#and that still turned out to be pretty cool

[aliteralsemicolon]

Thinking about how Spencer takes care of you when you're too exhausted to take care of yourself.

He walks into your bedroom to find you on the brink of sleep, carelessly curled up on your end of the bed and his brows raise in slight concern as he scans you. You couldn't even be bothered to change out of your day clothes. He chuckles lightly at the sight, as he makes his way to you.

"Baby?" He gently calls to you, rubbing your calf with his hand as he takes a seat next to your legs. You're unable to respond to the sound of his voice despite hearing it. He tries again, this time kneeling on the floor next to your head.

"Angel?" His fingers lightly brush through your hair as he whispers near your ear.

"Hmm?" You reply hazily.

You wait for him to speak so you can go back to sleep but all that follows is silence. He resumes his motions in your hair and it keeps you aware of his presence. He's waiting for you to gain some more consciousness. You rub your eyes, fluttering them open and Spencer's quick to guide your hand away from your face.

Right. Your makeup.

"What's up?" You mumble, stifling a yawn.

"I know you're tired, and I'm sorry for having to wake you up," he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "but you do know why it's bad for you to fall asleep like this?"

This is a topic the two of you have discussed before. You're usually quite meticulous about removing your makeup before bed, but you're also no stranger to nights when you can't find any energy to do so.

"Mhm. Clogged pores, risk of infections, bacteria spread, discomfort…" You trail off, summarising his extensive research.

Getting you up and off this bed is a losing battle tonight and Spencer graciously accepts defeat, sporting an endeared grin.

"Can I at least help you get comfortable? Would it be alright if I took these off for you?" He tugs at your top and waits for your response. You nod, letting out a barely audible hum.

Spencer moves off the floor and begins to remove your clothing. "You're gonna have to help me just a little bit, Angel. Lift your hips for me."

You blindly follow his commands, wanting to get it over with so that he can relax and you can go back to sleep. He doesn't relax, though. As he rids you of the last of your clothing, he mentally fights himself on letting you sleep with your make-up. There are so many risks involved, but hygiene aside, Spencer knows that if you wake up with your pillow stained– or God forbid…a pimple– you're going to be beyond pissed with yourself.

The sudden dip in the mattress slightly startles you, as a cool feeling drags against your cheek and you whine.

"Shhhh, sorry, it's just me." Spencer coos.

"What're you doing?" You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, still in a sleepy haze.

"Just wiping off your makeup, sweet girl. You're going to thank me tomorrow." His finger hooks under your chin and he soothingly rubs his thumb just under your lips.

"Spence…" You begin whining but you're unable to pronounce anything else coherently.

He can tell you're slightly irritated, but he doesn't mind. He knows that it's the exhaustion talking.

"I know, I know." He sympathises with his continually gentle tone. "I'm almost done. You're being so good for me right now."

Your lips pout, but you don't complain any further, his words calming you. By the time he's finished ridding your face of cosmetic residue, you're knocked out again. Light snores can be heard from you. He chuckles to himself at the sight of you. So peaceful. So adorable. He leans in closer and plants a firm, lingering kiss on your forehead before he disappears to get ready for bed himself.

"Spence?"

He turns around at your groggy voice, still half asleep. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, my pretty girl."

[crystal-blue-purrsuasion]

I actually disagree here, I’ve gotten tattoos I regret and usually I love them more even if they turn out to be inaccurate.

Like, I understand the depth of Hamilton’s faults, but I’m still happy with my Hamilton gradient, especiallly since i found out how good yellow is on my skin.

The exception is my first tattoo, the glasses and scar, which i got at the tattoo shop in Universal. It’s a wonderful memory, but I’m going to modify it to something else as soon as i know what. That’s a different vibe than Hamilton, which I enjoy even with its faults, so I think that’s why

I should point out that I’m well-educated (thanks to loans, oops) but not working in my field. I’m in a place where i don’t have to deal with the ramifications of having tattoos (office setting, family, etc).

But other than that, it’s pretty cool to treat my body as a living document, if that makes sense?

in general i dont think fandom tattoos are a bad idea but i think u need to at least give yourself like a two year buffer from the end of that piece of media before you commit. like if someone told me "yeah im obsessed with hazbin hotel rn so im gonna get a hazbin hotel tattoo" id be like woah okay maybe put a pin in that idea for later. but if someone told me "yeah i read homestuck in its prime and i still love it so im gonna get a homestuck tattoo" id be like well fair enough its been like eight years. if you still like it now you'll probably still have fond memories of it in 20 years. you do you.

[bluem1lls]

hii!! can u write a se-mi x female guard reader and theyre already lovers even before the game started. when reader realized that se mi is in the game, she secretly protected her. when the reader revealed herself to se mi in the bthroom they kinda argued,,

✧₊⁺ i'm mr. loverman (and i miss my lover)

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: you're so in love with your friend with benefits that you'll risk your life to keep her safe, even if it's all to let her go in the end.

content: angst, guard! reader x player! se-mi

authors note: hi!!! tysm for your request, i hope u like it!

⋆｡°✩ her fingers feel so good inside that, combined with her lust-filled face that roams your features, you think you can cry from the sight alone.

"yes, yes, yes, just like that" your head hits the wall with a choked moan once she allows you to finish.

as you're coming down from your haze, she kisses you.

her kisses so rough, that you're used to being out of breath afterwards.

she lays you in bed, gently getting on top.

"you're my pretty girl.. and i'll miss. you. so. much" she says, kissing you after every word.

please, make it never ending.

"why can't i go with you?" you pouted as she shook her head no.

"i need to take this trip by myself. i told you.. i need to solve a few issues before.. we get more serious" she says as she hears your sigh. "i want that baby, i really do."

you nod, a bit hesitant, resting your head on her chest. you can feel heart beating, which pulls a smile from your lips.

"we can have a morning quickie, as a goodbye"

she hums as she kisses your forehead in agreement.

"mmm.. such a nice way to say goodbye." she replies as you chuckle. "but i still need one more round, just.. to make sure i'm leaving you all satisfied"

you smirk, lifting your head as your eyes find eachother. your lips meet hers once again.

"make me" she grins, quickly getting on top, covering the naked bodies with the white sheets.

⋆｡°✩ you place the mask over your face, following 015 to the 'red lights, green lights' room. stepping in, you remove the mask and drop the case on the floor, putting the weapon together.

practicing the aiming, you check the new players. you would judge them but, weren't you just one stupid more?

as you got ready for the game, the doll turned around, letting you hear the little song you knew all too well.

everyone started running, slowing the pace as it screamed red light.

you found an already familiar face guiding the newbies, oh? well he's..huh. player 456. that's actually cool.

you scanned the room as the game kept going, finding a face you had imprinted in your brain.

huh, she's pretty.

she has..

pretty brown eyes, short brown hair, piercings.

huh.

your eyes shut closed, trying to supress the angry scream.

the girl looked just like se-mi!

no wait.

it was fucking se-mi.

"fuck."

pulling your hair, you tried to focus during the game, you can't lose it now.

you tried to keep your shots far away from her, trying to not make her flinch or anything that made her move.

as she got to the finish line, a sigh of relief ran through your body.

you couldn't face her now though, that'd be reckless.

⋆｡°✩ as the night came, you stirred in bed. shivers running through your body as you kept thinking about her.

you slowly got dressed, walking where the players went through to go to the bathroom, you nudge your partner to go.

i mean, you weren't a big thing here, but they respected you as a triangle, at least the newbies (circles).

so as he left, you stood there, checking on her through the small window.

you located her on the bed, asleep. she was all alone and you almost ran in there to sleep with her, but you couldn't.

pressing your lips together, you sighed, hoping everything could end soon.

⋆｡°✩ a new day, the end of a new game. you prayed that she made it, as you couldn't be there present for it.

you stood on the bathroom door, guarding, as you kept thinking.

how could you ask them without being suspicious?

maybe grab a circle and ask, then kill him.

or um.. maybe go down to the bathroom door? like last night and look for her?

no, maybe you could-

no need, because as you kept thinking of ways to find out if she was alive after 'six-legged pentathlon' while taking custody, she stood there in front of you.

"can i go orrr.. you'll shoot me?" she smirked, eyeing me up and down.

you swore, if she kept being a brat, you'll throw the mask and kiss her. a few ways to makeout and have a quickie came to your mind.

you nod at her, your gun pointing to the door as she enters, leaving your sight.

at least the brat was alive. thank god.

⋆｡°✩ as you kept with your nightly ritual, you found yourself in the little hallway where the players walked for the bathroom.

you could see her chuckling, she was sitting down with a few guys, manspreading as always.

your eyes roamed her body, and then her face. she was so attractive.

you wouldn't judge any of the girls here if they fell for her.

judge doesn't mean you wouldn't shoot them though.

⋆｡°✩ a new day, a new game.

mingle.

as you stood there, your eyesight found her. she was scanning the room, walking with the same group you saw her yesterday.

moving aside with gun in hand, you stared as her brown eyes started to show a hint of fear as the platform begin spinning.

she does the first round, the second one.

but on third one, something feels weird as you see her talking with this guy, a frown on her face.

your heart shatters as you see her three partners run to a room without her.

fuck no. she's not gonna die here.

you stare side to side, as the guards are busy, keeping their focus on otherways.

good.

you get close, poking her with the gun as she turns around, surprise all over her face. you could see that she'd given up. that broke your heart even more.

"196 and 133 are missing one. run" you mumble, but she can still hear you.

she stays there frozen as you poke her again. she seems to react this time as she runs with them into a room, although she keeps turning back to stare, trying to find out more about you.

you go back to your position. once mingle ends, you let out a breathing that you didn't even knew you were holding.

⋆｡°✩ you can't sleep that night, knowing she's there, probably staring at the ceiling thinking about what happened today, just like you.

you miss her so much you feel like you're about to leave everything to go and help her.

because you would. you'd drop everything for her.

⋆｡°✩ light's out was next. you knew that.

you can never be too careful, right?

as you run downstairs, placing the mask on your face, you find another guard with the triangle instead of circle, like you're used to.

fuck.

"039, what are you-" you cut him abruptly, choking him with your arm.

once his body goes limp, you hide it behind the door.

you start looking for her, she's not in her bed.

a bad feeling running through your veins.

fuck it. it's worth it for her.

as you hide your gun, you enter the common room. the light's are flashing, making it worse to locate her. everyone is in such a rush, they don't even see you. if they did, they're too busy being stabbed to death.

where is she?? WHERE the fuck is she????

you look near her bed, she's not there. you stare behind, the sides. she's. not. there.

fuckk.

you find her friend...min su? on top of a bed, quickly, you run to him. once you're close enough, you could hear a whimper.

no. please. not her.

"se-mi?" you scream with fear, voice almost trembling. "se-mi!?"

your eyes find her cornered against the wall. she already has a wound close to her neck.

what's it gonna be? your life of her's?

there's no doubt.

you aim and shoot. his body falls on top of her as she gasps. her gaze finds yours.

she throws his body to the ground, running to your side.

"who the fuck are you?" she tries to pull the mask as you stop her, holding her wrist.

"not here. bathroom"

she follows you to the bathroom, her body shivers.

"are you cold?"

"no. just.. had a very close death experience" she replies coldly.

there's nothing left to say other than pressing your lips while nodding.

once you get there, you step in first, checking to see if it's empty. you sign her to follow you as she enters, closing the door behind her.

she swiftly pushes you against the wall, holding a shard of broken glass to your throat. "who. the fuck. are you?"

"if you let me, i'll show you" she hesitates but backs up. you remove the mask and everything that covers your face and hair.

her mouth opens in shock. please, not this.

"you're fucking kidding me right? is this some kind of sick joke?" she says, staring wide eyed. "you were the one who helped me today and..oh my god. this entire time it was you"

as you try to get closer, she slaps your hand, rejecting you.

"se-mi, please"

"i can't believe you accepted this. do you have fun killing people? what if- what if you had to kill me?" anger slips through her words.

"i-i dont, se-mi" your eyes close, a few tears threaten to spill. "you lied to me too.. there was never a trip-"

"it's different! i came here to fucking end my debts to have our happy ending! you're just here for pleasure!

"it's not pleasure se-mi. i get fucking paid for this too, i need the money as much as you do" your voice elevates.

tears roll down your cheeks. it's useless.

"can we talk better outside?" you hiccup. "may-maybe when this is done we can get back home and-"

she dry chuckles, shooking her head no.

"you're fucking insane if you think there's an 'us' outside after this"

oh.

she must've seen your fat tears rolling down your cheeks because she attempts to comfort you, the habit being stronger than her. she closed her fist before any move, trying to control herself.

"right." you try to move but all you could do was try to breathe. if you didn't left this place in 2 minutes, you'll have a breakdown.

her gaze filled with anger, starts to disappear once she sees your teary eyes.

"fuck. im- i didn't meant- i" she stutters as her hands cover her face. "i fucked up, i didn't mean to say that-"

its too late, because you start placing all to cover yourself once again. she grabs your arm to stop you as you remove her grip.

"princess, i'm- exhausted and i'm confused and i'm fucking pissed i had you here all along, and my fucking 'friend' tried to kill me and he died in front of me because my girlfriend is the guard at this fucked up place and-" she pulls her hair as she takes a deep breath, clearly stressed.

she closes her eyes, this must be a fucked up nightmare, she thinks.

"baby- i'm sorry."

"you're not the only one who's been having it hard sem. you think this is a birthday party? you get paid to murder your own partners too. you killed them everytime you hit the circle. i need this too. the money- it goes all to my parents se-mi. i don't kill for fun. you need the money to pay your debts and i need the money to keep my parents alive." a sob escapes from your mouth as she looks at you, regret takes over her.

"but i'm fucking glad you lived though. as i'm also glad you lived in 'green light, red light' when i tried to avoid shooting near you to stop you from flinching. as i'm glad i kept you alive, even if i had to stay all night on the door to look after you while you slept after the games. as i'm glad i fucking saved you, while your friends left you to die."

you grab the mask, turning around as her mouth agapes like a fish, trying to find some words to say.

she has none. she knows you're right. or maybe you're both morally gray. you're as fucked up as she is.

and maybe now, she realizes it would've been better if there were no lies from the beggining.

"baby.." she murmurs as you start to head out the door, walking away.

"take care se-mi. i- i did everything i could. i had to pick between your life and mine. and i chose you. there's a big chance they'll kill me if they see the tapes, but at least you get out of here alive." you said, placing the mask again to cover your face.

and you leave. and she lets you leave.

and she cries against the wall until there are no more tears left to cry.

maybe she lost the game, but most importantly, she lost her lover.

and now, there's not a home to come back to, because you won't be there when she does.

[tsukisrants]

Prod. By Bangchan

bangchan x reader

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Genre: smut, fluff

Word Count: 12.200

Warnings: Dom/Sub undertones, Rough sex, Oral sex, Fingering, Name Calling, Humiliation, Degradation, Praise, Spit, Breeding Kink, Overstimulation, Choking, Breath Play, Squirting, Daddy Kink (cmon, it’s a bangchan fic), Aftercare, Jealousy, Feelings, Lots of feelings, ecc…

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He’s busy, and you miss him. So much. Too much.

He misses you too, and wants to show you just how much. You let him, cause- cause there’s nothing you wouldn’t let him do to you. You’re his, after all.

Your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other.

“I love you.”

You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

smut under the cut<3

(pls leave comments and let me know your thoughts on this,,^^)

You're starting to feel a dull ache in your back after hours hunched over your iPad, studying and taking notes. It’s clear that it’s time to stretch your legs a bit. You push the chair back and lift yourself slowly, each joint protesting more than you expected. A soft groan escapes your lips—a blend of discomfort and relief. You roll your neck from side to side, trying to ease the pressure that has settled there like a heavy weight.

Glancing out the window, you notice the sky has turned dark. Night has descended, fierce and enveloping, pierced only by the gentle glow of the moon casting a silvery light across the room, a soft yet almost aggressive presence. Curious about the time, you lean toward your phone, tapping its dark screen and realizing it's already past eight. He should have returned by now, but you’re not surprised he hasn’t crossed the threshold of your room yet.

“What am I going to do with you?” you mutter to yourself as you step away from the desk and move toward the mirror to your right.

The reflection that greets you reveals a woman who looks somewhat tired and worn, yet you’re relieved to see you don’t appear as disheveled as you feared. Your hair still holds its cleanliness, cascading softly over your shoulders and down your back. The bangs and layered strands frame your face, adding a hint of youthful charm despite the fatigue etched in your features.

You quickly adjust your appearance, slipping on a soft hoodie—one of his, infused with his intoxicating scent. You bury your nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply as if drawing him closer. It feels comforting, a reminder of his presence even in his absence. The shorts you’ve chosen cling gently to your body, flattering your curves, while the socks pulled high on your ankles give you an unexpected sense of height. You slide your feet into your well-worn Air Forces, grounding yourself in familiarity.

As you tuck your hands into your pockets, you catch a fleeting glimpse of the stillness around you. The room feels heavy with unspoken words and unfinished thoughts. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should wait for him or venture out into the cool night.

With a decisive breath, you turn away from the mirror, the weight of anticipation stirring within you. Tonight feels different, charged with a sense of possibility. You open the door and step into the hallway.

Wandering through the long, echoing corridors of the dormitory, a sudden craving strikes you. You pull out your phone and decide to place an order: two pizzas, a Coke Zero, and a slice of chocolate cake. It’s the same familiar order that the app has memorized so well it requires no further input from you. With a few taps, you select “repeat order” and send it off, sliding your phone back into the soft pocket of your hoodie.

As you walk, the vibrant sounds of voices and laughter spill from the rooms around you, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Each giggle and cheer feels like a gentle caress, filling the air with a sense of community that comforts you deeply. You can’t help but smile, relishing this little slice of life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

The world outside may be chaotic, but here, among these walls, you find a sanctuary of laughter, connection, love, and family.

To reach your destination, you step out of the dormitory and walk a few meters toward the entrance of the building across the way. The cold night breeze grazes the exposed skin of your legs, sending tiny, prickling shivers racing up your spine. You quicken your pace, eager to escape the chill. The entrance looms closer, and as you punch in the code to get inside, a deep sigh of relief escapes your lips. The moment you step through the door, you’re enveloped by warmth that feels almost like a hug, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

A familiar face greets you just inside, and a smile spreads across both your faces. It’s Jaewon, one of the staff members from the recording studio. He leans casually against the wall, radiating an easy confidence that instantly puts you at ease.

“Make sure to bring him back home,” he says with a playful glint in his eye.

“Oh, a simple task,” you reply, shaking your head with mock seriousness as you pull down the hood of your hoodie, letting him see your full expression. “I’ll do my best.” His laughter is infectious, filling the air with a bright note.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you!” he exclaims as you start to move away, your laughter echoing through the empty entrance hall.

You pause for a moment, taking in the space around you. The studio has an almost sacred quality, the walls adorned with soundproofing panels and framed photos of artists who’ve passed through. Each image tells a story, and you can almost hear the echoes of creativity that resonate within these walls.

“Are you staying late tonight?” you ask, genuinely curious, as he glances at the clock behind him.

“Just for a bit. We have a session scheduled,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Good luck with your work, then,” you say, waving him goodbye.

“Ah, good luck to you, he’s in a sour mood!” he says, and you smile at him.

You had imagined it would come to this; you sensed that things weren’t going smoothly. Even when he’s late, he always makes a point to let you know, yet today the last message you received was hours ago, lingering in the silence between you like an unanswered question. You can’t help but speculate that, much like you, he’s become so absorbed in his work that he’s lost all sense of time. You picture him still hunched over his desk, surrounded by scattered sheets of music and the faint glow of his computer screen, laboring over a melody, fine-tuning the recordings from the day.

The thought brings a bittersweet smile to your lips. You know the thrill of those late-night sessions, when inspiration strikes and time slips away. Yet, a pang of worry lingers in the back of your mind. You wonder if he’s okay, if the weight of his creative ambitions is becoming too heavy.

You glance out the window, the night deepening beyond the glass, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. There’s a certain beauty in this moment, in the quiet anticipation of what he might create. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you should reach out, to bridge the gap between you, to remind him that he’s not alone in this.

As long as you exist, he will never, ever be alone. That’s a promise you made and intend to honor, no matter the circumstances.

After a few more steps, you arrive at the large black door that separates him from you. You don’t need to knock; instead, you quickly enter the code, which just so happens to be the date of your anniversary. Yes, it’s a cliché, and yes, the guys have teased him endlessly about it—especially Seungmin—but you know they secretly find it charming and romantic, just like you do.

As you step into the studio, you blink several times to adjust to the dim light—or rather, the near absence of it. The room is illuminated only by the soft glow of computer screens, casting an eerie yet oddly comforting ambiance. You can’t help but shake your head in concern at the conditions in which you always find him working.

He’s there, seated in one of those plush gaming chairs—a thoughtful gift from Felix, meant to help him endure the long hours he spends in this space (which is practically every night).

He hasn’t noticed your presence, and you seize the moment to linger for a heartbeat longer, watching him lost in his world. Even from this distance, you can see the dark circles under his beautiful eyes, remnants of sleepless nights fueled by passion and dedication. You bite your lower lip, feeling a pang of concern as you observe the way the muscles in his arms flex and relax, navigating through sheets of music and tapping rhythmically at the keyboard. There’s something mesmerizing about this scene—the intensity on his face, the way he seems to dance with his work, each keystroke a note in an unseen symphony. It’s both inspiring and heartbreaking, knowing he often sacrifices his well-being for his art. You wish you could ease the weight pressing down on him, to remind him to take a break and breathe.

But as you stand there, a silent observer, you feel a rush of affection and longing, a desire to connect. You want to interrupt this beautiful yet solitary moment, to pull him away from the screen and into the warmth of your embrace. Gathering your courage, you take a step forward, letting the door close softly behind you. The click of the door breaks the stillness, and his head snaps up, his eyes widening as he finally notices you. A mix of surprise and warmth floods his features, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the tension dissolve between you.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence that had enveloped him. “I brought dinner. Well, ordered it. It’ll be here in half an hour, maybe something more.” Just as you finish, he says, “I’m so sorry, baby,” clearly realizing it’s gotten way too late.

You shake your head almost immediately, hushing his protests and offering a soft smile instead.

“Shut up: no apologies. Just hug me, Chris,” you mutter, taking a few more steps toward him.

When you finally reach him, he turns the chair just enough to allow you to drop onto his strong legs. Instantly, his arms wrap around you, and you feel small, protected, safe—truly at home.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, burying his face against the sensitive skin of your neck. He inhales deeply, drawing in the perfect blend of your scents, which now seem to intertwine like an intimate melody.

“Yes, I missed you so much,” you confess, grasping the drawstring of his hoodie and twirling it around your finger. You shift slightly on his lap, settling in more comfortably, the warmth of his strong, muscular frame enveloping you like a cocoon.

“Little one,” he whispers, his soft lips brushing against your forehead, lingering in a gentle, comforting kiss. It sends a ripple of warmth through you, grounding you in this moment.

“I missed you too, so much it hurt.”

There’s a pause as you hold each other, the world outside fading away, replaced by the soft hum of the studio and the rhythm of your hearts. You take a moment to absorb the feeling of being here with him, the weight of the day dissolving in his embrace.

“Did you eat?” he asks, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes, concern etched across his features.

“I was waiting for you,” you reply with a small smile, brushing a stray hair from your face.

“Always the caretaker,” he teases lightly, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his voice. “Let’s eat together. You deserve a break too.”

You feel Chris’s body moving against yours, and you immediately understand that he intends to get up, perhaps to move both of you to the little couch in the corner of the studio, the place where you usually sprawl out when you stay with him while he works. A small, faint whimper of protest escapes your lips without you being able to stop it, and you feel him stiffen slightly as he halts his movements.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his warm voice intoxicating you and making your thoughts even more confused.

"Chan..." you whisper, your hands resting on the solid grip of his shoulder, feeling the muscular structure and sensing the strength hidden beneath his sweatshirt.

"What is it, little one? Talk to me," he encourages, his face tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised—a curious, mischievous expression. It’s the look of someone who knows everything but decides to pretend not to know anything.

"I- I want..." You try to speak, to express what is in your mind, to make your desires more tangible and real, but his hands resting on your hips, gripping your flesh with severity, are enough to send your mind into total and incoherent turmoil.

Bangchan smiles, a mix of sweetness and satisfaction adorning his face that borders on perfection.

You see him push his tongue into his cheek, in one of those expressions he often reserves for the most intense moments of his performances, and just witnessing such a scene up close, no matter how many times You’ve seen it before, makes your legs tremble.

"Use your words, sweetheart. I know you can do it. What do you want? I can't give it to you unless you ask nicely like the well-mannered girl I know you are.”

You experience a shiver, your breath becoming shallow and your heart racing as anticipation and desire intensify within you. Your body feels weak and pliable beneath his touch, as if it were composed of clay. Chris patiently awaits your response, his eyes deepening in intensity with each passing moment, rendering his gaze increasingly difficult to endure.

You find yourself no longer surprised by this. Instead, you accept the situation, surrendering to him and allowing him to take control of your body. You take pleasure in the sense of liberation that arises from the unwavering certainty that he will care for you at all costs, and that he possesses the knowledge to do so in the most effective manner.

“Please, C-Chris. Jaewon mentioned that you’re feeling nervous, and I really want to help you feel better,” you confess, the words slipping from your lips as if they had a mind of their own.

There’s a softness in your tone, an earnestness that surprises even you. The dim light of the room casts gentle shadows, and for a moment, the weight of your own vulnerability hangs in the air.

You try to move closer to him, the distance between you two charged with an unspoken understanding. “I know how overwhelming things can get,” you add, your heart racing slightly as you gauge his reaction, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you in.

His reaction ends up surprising you, as you notice his jaw locking and his eyes get even darker.

His eyes are now crossed by something indecipherable to you, a tempest of emotions swirling just beneath the surface. You can’t help but wonder what could have provoked such a reaction, what shadows lurk in the depths of his gaze.

His hands grip your waist tightly, almost painfully, and a pained sigh escapes his lips, filling the room with an electric tension. Chris seems to be engaged in a fierce battle within himself, each breath heavier than the last.

Jaewon—he's the source of this turmoil. Chris’s jealousy is palpable, simmering like a flame ready to ignite. It doesn’t surprise you; despite the fact that sometimes you can be a little too naive, it’s clear that Jaewon has at least a flicker of affection for you. Not that it matters much to you. Your heart belongs to the man standing before you, the one now consumed by his own insecurities and rage.

As Chris’s grip tightens, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his bravado. The way his jaw clenches and his brows furrow reveals a deeper struggle: the fear of losing something he never fully claimed.

It stirs something within you—a desire to reassure him, to bridge the chasm of jealousy that threatens to pull you both apart. “Why do you let him get to you, baby?” you whisper, hoping to break through the storm raging inside him. Chris’s eyes momentarily glimmer with a softness, a fleeting reminder of the sweetness that lies beneath his tumultuous exterior. In that instant, as he realizes how adeptly you’ve read his soul, the warmth washes over him. But you know all too well that this tenderness will soon give way to shadows, and that gentle spark serves as a poignant reminder of why you love him so fiercely.

“Why, you ask?” he scoffs, his voice laced with a mix of heat and frustration, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “Because you’re mine, that’s why. That kid seems to forget it all too often. Where the hell is the respect, huh? You’re mine, and he knows it. Yet he keeps asking about you—about when you’ll come to the studio. He even dares to talk to you when I’m not around.”

You can see the tension coiling within him, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The protective intensity in his gaze sends a thrill through you, even as you sense the underlying fear that accompanies his jealousy. It’s a double-edged sword: this fierce devotion is intoxicating, but it also makes you wonder about the depths of his insecurities. You want to reassure him, to bridge the gap between his fears and your unwavering loyalty, but the words feel stuck in your throat, tangled in the complexity of the moment.

And- selfishly enough, you want him to feel this: you want him to be jealous of you enough to feel the unbearable need to prove you who you belong to. You can feel his frustration pulsating in the air, a raw energy that seems to crackle between you. It’s as if he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, yearning to let go, to release the weight of his emotions without the burden of overthinking them.

You long for him to embrace that instinct, to surrender to the chaos swirling within him.

In that moment, you wish for him to truly let go—to spill every ounce of his frustration into the open, to share the shadows that haunt him. It’s not just an act of catharsis; it’s a plea for connection.

You want him to unleash everything—the anger, the disappointment, even the fear—because deep down, you know that after the storm, he’ll be the one there to pick up the pieces. You need him to take it out on you: to possess and own you, to give you his pain and rage and to make sure that you take it all.

You yearn for him to trust you enough to confide in you, to see you not just as a refuge but as a safe harbor where he can unload his burdens. You crave that intimacy, the kind that comes from vulnerability.

And you know that once he releases those pent-up feelings, he will find solace in your presence, gathering the fragments and piecing them back together, stronger than before.

“I'm yours, Chan, I'm only yours,” you whisper, your voice trembling like the rest of your body, a delicate confession that hangs in the air between you.

The admission is enough to draw a heavy sigh from Chan, his expression transforming into one of deep contentment. It’s as if your words are music to him, the sweetest melody that resonates in his heart. The warmth in his eyes reflects a profound satisfaction, as if he’s just heard the final notes of a symphony composed solely for him. He leans in closer, the space between you shrinking until you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You have no idea what that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, laced with emotion.

The sincerity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a warmth that spreads through your entire being. In this moment, wrapped in his arms, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you and the unspoken promises lingering in the air. You can almost hear the gentle rhythm of your hearts syncing together, a quiet testament to the bond you share.

“Let me show you just how much I cherish you,” he says, his tone shifting to something more playful yet tender. The air crackles with anticipation, and you can’t help but smile, feeling the weight of his affection envelop you like a warm embrace. In this sacred space, you realize that it’s not just about belonging to each other; it’s about the beautiful journey you’re on together, filled with shared dreams and whispered secrets. You are his, and he is yours—an undeniable truth that fills your heart with an overwhelming sense of belonging.

“S-Show me, show me how you own me,” you say, daring to challenge him and daring to push his buttons just a little more, just enough for you to finally get what you want, what you need.

“Manners, pretty girl,” he reminds you, eyes gentle yet stern, authoritative enough to make your heart skip a beat as you feel warmth pooling at your belly, spreading down your body and making you wiggle around on his lap, your body flushed against his as you start to feel him harden under you. “Say please?” he adds, and that’s enough for you to lose every ounce of self control you had left.

“Please, please, Chan, please…” you beg, hands moving to grip at the soft texture of his hoodie, in a desperate attempt to grounded yourself, you hips starting to move without you being able to control them as you look for any kind of friction, your legs trembling and wetness spreading over the pretty panties you’re wearing.

“Please, what?” He growls, and one of his hands finds its rightful place against the sensitive skin of your neck.

He grips at it like it’s what he’s supposed to do. And he is.

He takes your oxygen away from you, your face turning the most delicious shade of pink as you try to breathe. Your mind is foggy, and his hand controls your airways as his whole presence controls your soul.

“F-fuck, Chan,” you whisper, your hands shaking as you place them over his forearms- not to pull him away, no. To keep him close, to keep him there, to tell him how much you love it when he chokes you like that without having to say it out loud.

With him, words are pretty much useless sometimes.

You guys can communicate without them, and it’s always been like that.

“Use your fucking words, or else,” he groans, his hand now closing more tightly over your neck.

“Or else what?” you say back, a smirk threatening to spread over your features as you decide to give him the brattiest version of yourself.

You don’t do it too often- not because you don’t like it, but because Chris makes it hard.

He’s sweet, yet he knows you fucking owns you. He knows exactly what to say to make you bend over, to make you cry, to make you obey. Actually, he’s usually able to turn you into a pliant little doll just by looking at you.

But tonight- tonight you need this. He needs this.

And ever so caring, you give it to him. Cause there’s fucking nothing in the world you wouldn’t give him. He knows. It’s clear that he does, because his eyes flash with- with understanding. With desire, and frustration. With possession.

“I see how it is,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sweet. Too much. Too threatening.

He leaves your neck, and air floods your lungs all at once as you gasp and breathe heavily. His hand trails the soft, reddened skin of your neck, caressing it as he admires the handprint he left behind.

Then, Chan’s hand grabs your chin and forces your face closer to his.

“Wanna be a brat? Is that it? You’re so fucking desperate for cock that you decide to be stupid enough to challenge me?”

There it is: the side of him that you so desperately wanted to bring out.

His most stern, dangerous, controlling side.

He hates it, or at least he used to. Nowadays, things have changed, and despite the fact that you’d like for him to take some credit, deep down you know pretty well that it’s all thanks to you. Thanks to your trust and love, thanks to the fact that you’ve always showed him that even when his darkness takes the lead, he’s still full of love and care. He’s still him. He has learned - or more like, he’s still learning - to let go, and to love himself a little more.

And what of himself he still can’t love, you’ll love for him.

“Are you gonna talk or are you gonna fuck me? Because I’m pretty sure that if you old man can’t get it up someone else wi-,” your words are cut off as his hand collides with your cheek, your face turning to the side and more of his marks showing up on your skin. After reassuring him that he’s the only one for you, you know that you can more safely play with his jealousy. And he loves it, cause it gives him a free go at showing you that he’s the only one that can ever own you.

“Pain slut,” he comments, as your reaction to getting hit on the face is, as usual, a loud moan.

He cruelly laughs, watching as you blush and wiggle on his lap. But he doesn’t let you move much, and actually stills you by grabbing your waist, and he pushes his hips upwards, his bulge rubbing viciously against your core, the friction ever so sweet and torturous.

Bangchan lets out a deep groan, and it slips out before he can stop it. The sound hits you hard, sending a rush through your body that makes you want to squeeze your legs together to ease the tension building up inside you. You love him to madness when he lets himself go like this: you love to see him lose his composure, and even more, you love to hear him. Hearing his voice, the way it trembles and how it badly hides all the desire he has for you.

It's one of the most arousing things in the world.

“Wanna get fucked, baby? Huh? Want to get the pussy filled up?”

You can’t help but nod, and you know that you’re practically making a fool out of yourself: to be honest, you really couldn’t care less. Bangchan mocks you as he imitates the pathetic sound you let out and the way you didn't even think to hesitate before nodding along his words and trying to rub against his cock more insistently.

You hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the sharp sound echoing in the room in a way that almost makes you jump.

“M-mean, you’re mean,” you whisper, your hands tracing his body and resting on his big, strong arms.

His muscles tense under your touch, and you can feel the way he clenches them and flexes them for you, since he know damn well how much you love to feel them- to feel his strength and now how much power he has over you, both physically and mentally.

Bangchan's astonished laughter reverberates through the studio, a sound so jarring that it seems to vibrate through your bones. The humiliation that follows is sharp, disorienting, enough to make your head spin. And yet, in that moment, you realize you love him more than ever.

There’s something intoxicating about how he mocks you, his teasing a strange sort of intimacy. You find comfort in the knowledge that his words hold no real malice, that there's never any truth behind the jabs. You know, deep down, that he loves you—protects you—though his love comes with a sharp edge. He loves you enough to humiliate you, enough to hurt you, because that’s the way he knows how to show it. In his cruel kindness, you find something that both wounds and heals, a paradox you can never quite escape.

“Mean, huh? That’s funny, isn’t it? Since you’re such a pathetic slut for it. Since you beg me with those pretty eyes to be meaner and meaner. Since I know that that pussy is getting wetter by the second.”

It’s the truth: he knows it, and you know it. You both know it, and that truth—the weight of it—only deepens the intoxication. There’s no escaping him, not really. Not now, not ever. And the strange thing is, you don’t want to. Because in that exposure, in that raw vulnerability, there’s a strange kind of safety. You feel naked, completely laid bare, and yet, somehow, protected. You know what’s coming. He will tear you apart, rip through the layers you've so carefully built. But you also know, with an unsettling certainty, that he will always put you back together—because he always does.

And each time, as he pieces you back, it’s as if you’re being remade. There’s a tenderness in his destruction, a care in his cruelty, and with every unraveling, you find yourself a little more whole, a little more yourself. Even if it means surrendering everything, every time, to a love that demands it all.

The relentless stillness of the moment is shattered by his actions: Bangchan grips your hair, his hold firm and unyielding, forceful enough to sting. You let out a pained moan, your eyebrows knitting together in a small grimace. Heat floods your body as he moves you like a mere rag doll.

He lifts you up, pushes you away: you are no longer cradled in his arms but standing before him, who is poised to lift you right after. His eyes scan your body, looking at you as no one ever has, as if you are the only one in the entire world.

You meet his gaze. It’s just him: Bangchan, Chris. Only him, and your desperate need to have him.

“What-“ you try to stay, yet you are unable to finish your sentence as he shushes you.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls- or well, he orders you.

Your words die in your throat as he grabs your wrist into his hand, forcing you to follow him around the studio. And follow him you do, looking like a dumb, lost puppy who’s wiggling his tail at his owner.

Which isn’t that far from the reality of things, if you were to be honest with yourself. You tremble as you feel the weight of anticipation growing inside you, the excitement looming over your body and clouding your mind. You can't think of anything else but the fact that you want to have him, here and now.

“Strip,” he commands you, casually letting himself fall onto the small couch where you usually nap when you come to keep him company while he works on his songs.

The spectacle before you is unparalleled: him, in all his magnificence, exuding power and control, sitting with his legs wide apart on the couch, his gaze rigid and the front of his pants bulging, poorly concealing the excitement he is also feeling.

You already feel exposed, stripped of everything. Yet, after taking a deep breath, with trembling hands covered by a thin layer of sweat from nervousness and excitement, you carry out the order he gave you.

You undress under his attentive and eager eyes, allowing him to observe every smallest movement of yours.

His hand finds its place on his groin, and you watch him touch himself while you remove one piece of clothing after another. Your clothes fall forgotten to the ground until you are left with only your panties on, now damp and wet with your arousal. You’ll probably have to throw them away after this, but it’s a sacrifice you’re more than willing to make.

“Take those off too, show me that pretty pussy,” he says, his witty tongue escaping his even more dirty mouth to wet his plump lips.

He keeps on touching himself, rubbing vigorously against his dick. He’s still too clothed, and you find yourself whining pathetically as you slide the panties you have on off from your body.

“Not fair,” you say, and he arches his brow in response as he tilts his head to the side.

“What?” he asks, hips moving to meet his own hand, as it’s clear to you that even though he hides it better, he’s as needy as you are.

“Wanna see you- wanna see your cock,” you plea, as a little moan escapes your lips as air comes in contact with your now exposed cunt. “This cock?” he asks, basically gripping at his own hard dick right before your eyes.

A wave of longing stirs within you, as if the mere sight of the scene before you is enough to make your senses tingle with hunger. And there, at the center of it all, he sits right in front of you—an embodiment of temptation, the perfect image of sin itself. His presence is the precise manifestation of every secret desire you've ever harbored, a temptation so vivid, so impossible to resist, that it feels as though the very air around you crackles with the promise of what is going to happen.

“Yes, please, wanna see it- wanna suck it, please, daddy,” you beg, and you can’t seem to be able to stop yourself.

You can see it in his eyes: the way he revels in seeing you like this, feeling you like this—utterly, completely his, a possession he claims with every touch, every glance. There's a possessiveness to him, something primal and unrelenting, as though your very existence belongs to him. You feel his breath falter in his throat when the words leave your lips, the weight of them pulling him deeper into that ownership. You know the effect it has on him, how it makes his mind spin, how it makes him want to pull you even closer, to mark you further as his.

And in that moment, perhaps his head spins as much as yours does. You, his possession, his obsession.

“Then get on your fucking knees.”

As soon as those words leave his lips, your legs give out and you found yourself kneeling in front of him, as you fall on your knees with a soft tud. It hurts, but you don’t mind. Actually, you love the feeling of it, the burn so delicious that it almost makes your eyes roll back.

“Such a good girl for daddy,” he praises you, his eyes locked on your naked body.

Without ever taking his eyes off you, Bangchan slightly lifts his back, and you watch, mesmerized, as he grips the edges of his t-shirt before pulling it up and completely sliding it off his body. He tosses it carelessly onto one of the armrests of the sofa, and you feel your mouth water at the sight of his perfectly sculpted body: muscles defined, imposing, strong, moving in a hypnotic dance as they follow his every motion.

“You’re so hot,” you say, as he finally starts to work on his pants.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lowers both his pants and boxers down, kicking off his shoes in the process. “Want you to fuck me so bad.”

The air is heavy around the both of you, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to make him- do something.

You look at him through your lashes, you bite your bottom lip, you spread your knees a little wider. And he knows, obviously he does. He knows how you work, and all your little tricks. It’s hard to make him fall for them nowadays.

“Fuck,” he hisses, as his cock is finally freed from his clothes. Every time you see it, it’s like the first time: it’s so big. Big and veiny, strong like the rest of him. The tip is swollen and red, leaking the tiniest drop of his pre-cum, and the sight of it makes you salivate and feel- hungry. Yeah, that’s the word.

“Suck it,” he says, hand sliding up and down the length right in front of your face, “suck my cock, baby. Daddy’s gonna make you choke on it, c’mon.”

You move so quickly you almost fall over, yet you manage to get closer to him and place your hands on his strong thighs. He chuckles at the sight of your utter desperation, but you don’t mind. Actually, the more he laughs at you, the wetter you become.

“Thank you, t-thank you,” you whisper, before placing your hands on his cock. Both of them, since it’s just so fucking big. You grip it at the base, and with eyes full of lust, you stick your tongue out before slapping his dick against your face. It’s heavy, and it kind of hurts a little bit, just how you like it. The smell of it- of him, fills your senses. It’s salty and so so him. You breathe in deeply and nuzzle your face against the skin of his thighs, hand moving over his cock.

“Someday i’ll have you cockwarm me here at the studio. Make you stay on your knees all fucking day, I swear.”

You nod almost immediately, because there’s no chance you’d ever say no to something like that. Or to anything he’d ask from you, but that’s another thing. Chris looks at you like you’re his prey, and he’s- the big bad wolf. Pun intended, of course.

“Didn’t you say you were gonna make me choke on it, daddy? Are you a liar?” you tease, and right after that you slide your tongue all over his cock, from base to tip, focusing on the little slit to taste as much of his juicy as you possibly can.

“You little bitch,” he curses, shaking his head as his hands find their rightful place into your hair, grabbing at it and pulling at it and- hurting you so sweetly. “Gonna fucking stuff you full, see if that shuts you up.”

His cock finds its place into your mouth, and he shoves your head down the length of it so forcefully that you can’t help but cough at the intrusion, your throat hurting as spams overcome it.

“That’s it,” he groans, hips pushing up to thrust inside your mouth, the tip of his cock pushing against the back of your throat as his dick slides over your tongue. “This is all you’re good for.”

You agree, because how could you not? His words burn and rub at your skin the same way his cock rubs at the softness of your tongue. You nod wordlessly over his length, and his moans make the air around of you thicker, as if you could just move your arms and touch it.

You obviously can’t, couldn’t, but the thought is enough to make your spiral: he has so much power over you it’s insane, but comforting. You don’t have to think abut anything other than keeping your mouth open and jaw slack as he forces his cock deep inside your tight little throat.

His precum is salty and spit trails from your mouth all the way down your chin, making it sloppy and messy and wet, just how you both like it.

“Such a tight mouth, a warm little hole,” he groans as his hips buck up against your face, the muscles of his strong thighs tensing as his body is shaking with the pleasure you’re giving him. Tears spill from your eyes as he holds your head down, forcing his dick all the way down your throat, the muscles of it spasming without control as you fight the need to breathe.

“Choke. Shut the fuck up and choke for me, good fucking girl.”

You do live for his praise, for the feeling you get when you’re so lucky to obtain his approval.

You’d do anything to get that feeling, even though he basically praises you just for the fact that you exist. Still, you love that sometimes he makes you work for it, because it makes it way more intense at the end of the day. It’s- it’s like drowning. You’re gasping for air, and you fight with all your strength to keep on being alive. When you’re free to breathe, it changes the perspective of being alive: you understand it’s worth. Life’s worth.

Same thing goes with what he has to give you. You want it, you need it. And after waiting and begging for it… it’s just overwhelming. It gives your entire life a purpose.

“Please,” you mouth at the tip of his cock, tongue playing with the red, wet slit to try and gather as much as possible of his thick salty juice. “Wanna get fucked, please, please, fuck me,” you beg, because it’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s what you both crave.

Chan snickers, he rubs his cock over your swollen lips, over and over again, staining them with a glossy, creamy finish.

“What if I didn’t? What if I just fucked this hole and got off like this?”

You almost cry, yet you don’t try to object. You nod, and he chuckles at the sight.

“W-whatever daddy wants, whatever you want, please.”

And it’s the right answer.

Exactly what Bangchan wanted to hear, and it's as if in your head you can hear a small chime ringing, signaling that you've chosen the best option, and that you can move forward, go ahead, continue. He runs a hand through his hair: a thin layer of sweat makes his forehead shine and glisten, and his cheeks are tinged with the juiciest shade of red.

The tension in his muscles betrays him—the rigid set of his jaw, the way his eyes burn into yours, frantic, pleading, but he won’t say it. He doesn’t need to.

You feel it, all of it—the weight of his desperation pressing in, thick and suffocating. You feel powerful because if he looks like this now, it’s only and solely thanks to you. It's your merit.

He’s- he’s in charge, but you still have so much power. Over him. Over his entire being.

He’s yours just as much as you’re his.

You’re all naked and vulnerable, kneeling at the feet of your boyfriend. Your body is screaming at you, yelling with the need to be relieved, but you can’t do anything other than ignore it, cause that’s not up to you: your own satisfaction isn’t in your hands, but in his.

“Finally learnt your place, haven’t you? Or maybe it’s just that you’re so fucking needy that your dumb brain can’t even handle fighting me off anymore, huh?” he pets your cheek, thumb rubbing at the flushed skin with a faux tenderness, “whatever. Get up. Sit on the couch and spread your pretty legs. Gonna fill that pussy up, I need to fuck you.”

You move with such urgency, such speed, that it almost feels like you’re losing touch with your own body, as if the world around you is slipping into a blur while you stay anchored in this moment, in this need. Your knees burn, the sensation sharp and raw. Sweet, too. The roughness of the carpet scrapes against your skin, the friction almost making you lose feeling, but you don’t stop, not even for a second. You wouldn’t be able to even if you wanted. And you don’t.

You really, really don’t.

In fact, you barely notice the pain. The ache in your legs is something distant, unimportant in comparison to the heat building inside you. Your body knows its purpose here, and that’s all that matters.

Bangchan’s eyes are locked on you, unblinking, intense, yet there's something almost amused in his gaze, something quiet, like he's watching a game unfold before him. Like you’re his little toy to play with.

You are. He doesn't need to say a word; his stare is enough. Every movement of yours is like a story quickly unfolding, and he is savoring every page like a starved man. And that’s all you need. His attention, his focus, it fills you in ways nothing else can. It’s enough. Yet you need more. And more. And more. With your legs still tingling, an electric buzz coursing through them, you turn and let yourself fall onto the couch just like he told you to: legs spread wide open and body exposed for him: the soft cushion swallowing you momentarily, offering a fleeting relief.

As you collapse, he rises to his feet in a single, smooth motion. There’s no hesitation.

“Look at you. I haven’t touched you yet and that pussy is dripping with it. Fuck, baby, spread it open for me, will you?” he orders, and his words are so filthy that they make your head spin with how intensely they crush on you.

“Spread those folds, little one. Show me that tiny hole.”

When your fingers reach your own pussy, the moan you let out is basically pornographic.

His, too. It mirrors yours: it’s lower and more dominating, yet sweet.

Sometimes you feel like you could touch his voice if you really wanted to. Which is a crazy thought, but it makes sense for you. Cause everything about him defies the laws of this universe: it goes way beyond.

“F-fuck, look at you,” he groans, as you play with yourself under his hungry gaze. You know your body well, so it takes just a few flicks of your wrists to make your own legs tremble for him. He’s jacking off, and you whine and whine, so desperate to have him inside of you.

“Gimme, gimme…” you beg, tears starting to pool at your eyes. “Begging me so fucking nicely.”

He gets closer.

He grabs your legs, and then bends over. It happens pretty quickly: Chan finds his rightful place between your legs and forces them even more open than they were.

His hard dick rubs against your wet, needy folds, coating his length with your unstopping juices. You both moan, especially considering how long it has been since he’s been inside of you. Which is- well, four days, but for the two of you is kind of a record, to be honest. You just can’t keep your hands off of each other.

And looking at him, at the way sweat dribbles down his forehead, at the way his eyes shine with the light of a thousand stars… who could really blame you? You guys were fucking made for each other. You were made for him. And he? He was fucking made for you. Only you.

“Want your cock so bad.”

Bangchan laughs, before bending over to mouth at the soft skin of your breasts. His tongue slides over the sensitive skin of one of your nipples, while his fingers rub the other.

“Think you can take it? Daddy’s gonna open up that pussy first. Or do you want me to rip it, huh? Leave it gaping for me?”

As he talks, you feel his other hand trace down your whole body. Up until he reaches his goal: the growing wetness in between your legs. His fingers find their place immediately, and your eyes roll at the back of your head as his thumb moves over your swollen clit.

“C-Chan! Please!”

Harder. He rubs it harder, and while he does that his teeth nip at your hardened nipple, sending both pleasure and pain running through your defenseless body.

“It’s empty, isn’t it? I can feel it pulse under my fingers, you dirty fucking whore.”

He pushes two of his thick fingers all the way inside your wet hole. Air gets sucked out of your lungs, and you tilt your head back as your hands find their place in his scalp, grabbing his hair and pulling harshly at it.

“So tight, baby. This pussy is tight and yet it’s been fucked so many times. Made for me, weren’t you? Fucking molded over my cock.”

You nod, over and over again. You tell him that yes, he’s right, you were made for him.

“Aren’t you pathetic?” he mumbles, and that’s another thing you nod for. His fingers fill you up perfectly, even though it’s nearly not enough for you to get off the way you want. Need.

The sound is obscene: your juices slide down his fingers and almost get to his wrist, and you find yourself trying to spread your legs further to get him deeper.

“Kiss me,” you ask, tone whiny and demanding, hands tracing his scalp and neck and shoulders as he detaches himself from your now swollen tits.

Red marks cover your skin, and you can’t wait to see them turn the richest shade of purple in a few hours. He’s always had a thing for marking you up. Your lips meet, and it’s pretty messy: teeth and tongues clashing against one another, moans morphing into one sound as you both abandon yourselves to each other.

“I love you.”

You don’t known whose voice it was. Yours. His. Both. Neither: who cares.

It’s right, no matter who said it.

He rubs himself against your thigh, spreading his pleasure over your flushed skin. As you feel the weight of his dick you can’t help but keep on trembling and begging for him to finally fill you up. You glance down at where his fingers disappear inside of your body, and the sight is one to lose sleep over.

His arm is as strong as ever: veins showing up for the effort he’s putting on finger fucking you, muscles tensing and moving hypnotically, and his thick fingers getting swallowed in by your hungry cunt

“Can’t wait anymore. I need to be inside of you. Now.”

Finally.

He removes his fingers from your body harshly, leaving you gasping for air and crying out as you feel the emptiness hunt you down. He looks- looks at the way you’re gaping for him, hole abused and red and swollen begging him to get filled up. You can’t even think about feeling ashamed. There would be no point. Not right now. And most importantly, not with him.

His eyes shift. He’s no longer focused on your pussy, but he’s rather looking at your face. Make up running over it, making it messy just how he likes it. Chan brings his fingers to his mouth. They’re still coated with your juices, and you look carefully as he wraps those sinful lips of his around his wet digits. His eyelashes flutter and his throat lets out a trembling groan.

“So sweet. Sweet little pussy,” he moans around his own fingers, before switching it up and forcing them inside your mouth, making you taste what was left of your own pleasure and the thickness of is saliva.

You suck, immediately. You rub your tongue over the sensitive skin of his digit just as he takes ahold of his dick.

The tip of it, all red and swollen, gets rubbed against your equally abused cunt.

“Fuck me with it, daddy. C’mon. I need it so bad, please, please…”

It always works. Chan is a sucker for your begging. Always has been.

His hips move sinfully as he pushes his dick all the way inside your pussy in one precise motion. You almost scream, head tilting to the side and tongue lolling out of your mouth.

He keeps on rubbing his fingers over your tongue, over your lips: he does it carelessly, and you live for the feeling of getting treated like a fucking sex toy. His groans are to die for: low and sweet, caring and uncaring.

You love listening to him when he lets himself go, when he sheds all restraint and takes what he desires without hesitation or apology. There’s a kind of raw beauty in his selfishness, in the way he reaches out for everything he wants, heedless of the wreckage he might leave behind.

It’s rare, to get him like this. He thinks too much all the fucking time- but now? Now he’s free. He doesn’t care about what he’s breaking or losing, not in these moments. All that matters is the taking, the consuming, the claiming of whatever satisfies his boiling hunger.

And yet, you can’t stop giving. To him, you offer yourself again and again, without question, without limit.

He takes from you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, with a greed that seems insatiable. Every part of you—your time, your energy, your love—he consumes without hesitation. Even the things you didn’t think you could give, those pieces you didn’t even know existed, the pieces of yourself you thought were untouchable, he somehow reaches. He doesn’t just take what you offer willingly; he finds ways to take more, to claim even the things you didn’t know were his for the taking. And still, you let him. Because there’s something in the way he demands, the way he consumes, that makes you feel both hollowed out and completely alive.

Empty, but with a purpose. Filled up. A metaphor, yes. Also something tangible.

“You’re mine. This, this,” he groans, hands coming down to slap your thighs and breast and forcefully grab them into his strong hands, “this is all fucking mine.”

“M’yours, fuck, right there, harder,” you moan, hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. It’s never fucking enough. No matter what, you always crave more of Bangchan. Of the light of your life.

You’re insatiable. Both of you.

“Harder, baby? Look at me, look at me in the eyes when you ask for something, you fucking brat.”

He grabs your chin, forces your eyes to meet. Your mouth is wide open, moans escaping your lips incessantly, voice getting higher by the second.

You have a fight with yourself as you try to do as he says and keep your eyes open. You wanna be obedient.

You feel it deep in your core, an overwhelming certainty that if you cannot give him exactly what he wants, you’ll cease to exist. It’s absurd, you know this—impossible even. You won’t die if you fail to please him, and yet the thought claws at your mind, making every breath feel shallow and incomplete without his approval. Somehow, it feels real, undeniable, like a truth written into the fabric of your very being. And worse, it feels right.

The idea of losing yourself entirely for him, of offering up your life if that’s what it would take, doesn’t just seem acceptable—it feels like destiny.

So… your next words don’t surprise you. And- well, they don’t surprise him neither. He knows you too fucking well.

“Choke me.”

His hand is on your neck almost immediately.

You feel it as if it were your own—a brief, stuttering halt in the rhythm of his heart, a mirrored echo of the one that shakes through your chest. You watch as his eyes deepen, the light fading into the richest, most intense shade of darkness you’ve ever seen. It’s a darkness that beckons, that promises to consume you whole, and you can’t look away.

Then his hand moves, tightening around your neck with a deliberate, unyielding strength. The world narrows to the press of his fingers, to the way your breath falters and slips away. It’s no longer yours—your breath, your control, your very will have all become his, claimed in an instant. And you let him take it all, offering no resistance. Even if the fatigue is screaming at you, telling you to let go and close your eyes- you don’t. You can’t, couldn’t. Ever.

The burn in your lungs spreads, delicious and sharp, a physical reminder of your surrender. Your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven gasps, each one precious and entirely at his mercy. The edges of your vision blur, softening into a haze, but you don’t care. In fact, you find yourself welcoming it. It’s intoxicating, this loss of control.

“S-so big. Feel so big inside my pussy…” you cry out. By now, tears stream freely from your weary eyes, and Bangchan can’t resist. He leans down toward you, his tongue darting quickly across your burning skin.

He licks away your tears with a mix of hunger and intent, savoring each drop as if they belong to him, as if they’re his to take. Slowly, he consumes you—not just your tears, but every fiber of your being, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left untouched by him. The saltiness of your tears coats his tongue, and you can see how it makes his eyes flutter and thrust get more erratic.

His pace is punishing, on the verge of being painful.

The sweetest paradox.

Bangchan fucks you over and over again. Pushes his aching cock deep inside your desperate cunt, making it pulse over his length as you try to get him to bury himself deeper with each thrust.

“Look at you. You can’t even breathe, huh? All you can do is get fucked, am I right?”

You want to respond—desperately, with everything inside you. But you can’t. The words stay trapped deep in your chest, locked behind the absence of breath. There’s no air left to give them life, no way to shape them into sound. And yet, you refuse to disappoint him. You won’t. You can’t. Your body reacts instinctively, head dipping in a shaky nod as your vision wavers at the edges. Even without words, you find a way to obey, because you always will. No matter how much it costs you, no matter how far you’re pushed, obedience is instinctive when it comes to him. It’s like second nature to you.

He notices, of course. He always notices. A glint of satisfaction flickers in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, like a reward in itself. But it isn’t enough—not for him, not for this moment. He leans in closer, the intensity in his expression sharpening like a blade. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his other hand, placing it around your neck to join the first. Now, both hands hold you, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unrelenting firmness. The weight of his touch is calculated, deliberate, and impossibly precise. The pressure is just enough to make you burn, to send a sharp jolt of pain coursing through you, but not so much that it overwhelms. He knows your limits—intimately, perfectly—and he dances along that edge with a mastery that leaves you reeling.

He knows you better than you’ll ever know yourself.

Even now, in this moment of utter control, his care for you is evident. The way his hands move, the way he keeps you balanced between agony and safety, speaks volumes. He’s pushing you, yes, testing how far you’re willing to go for him, but never recklessly. Never without thought. Protecting you, even as he consumes you, is always at the forefront of his mind. You’re his, completely and utterly, and he would never risk breaking what belongs to him.

He guides you—a watchful, loving presence, both stern and compassionate. He leads you to the edge, to the point of no return, bringing you so close to losing consciousness, to surrendering completely to the void—to him, to his desires.

Just as you’re about to be swallowed by the emptiness, just as you’re on the verge of spiraling uncontrollably into the abyss of pleasure, his hands leave your neck.

The release is sudden, and air floods your lungs with such force that the world around you spins, tilting wildly as you gasp for breath. The rush is dizzying, overwhelming, and the sheer intensity of it makes everything else disappear, leaving only the two of you in the storm of sensation. You don’t even recognize it at first- the orgasm way too intense to be given a name. Your pussy aches and pulses and gushes out streams of your pleasure over and over again, tightening around his cock, making it harder for him to move freely.

Your body is overtaken by uncontrollable tremors, and a thin layer of sweat coats your skin, marked by bites—by the imprints of his touch. You don’t even know if you said anything, really. You can only feel and hear the way your blood runs through your blood, ears pulsing with the intensity of the sensations you just experienced.

“Good girl,” he praises, watching you as you struggle to breathe normally again. And even then, he doesn’t stop fucking you. Everything is more intense now- it’s enhanced by the way your orgasm hasn’t actually ceased. It’s ongoing, ravenous.

“Came over my fucking cock, wasn’t even touching your dumb little clit, fuck! Y-you fucking squirted for me, baby. Such a good little hole, I’m so proud of you.”

It’s practically enough to send you over the edge again: one orgasm morphing into another as you rub at your abused clit. Bangchan lets you, cause you’ve more than earned it. Even if usually- your pleasure is his. This time, though, he lets you have it. And you’re so fucking grateful for it.

“W-want you to come, too. Please, C-Channie, inside of me, please? Want all of your cum inside my pussy, want you to breed me, please…”

He loves it. He lives for it, and yet often enough he doesn’t allow himself to indulge into it.

You’ll have none of it though, especially today. Today- it’s for him. Only him.

“Babygirl- you’re fucking playing with fire now.”

It’s a warning—a subtle, almost imperceptible sign that you’ve grown all too familiar with, one that you’ve learned to disregard without a second thought. There was a time when it might have made you hesitate, made you question, but no longer. The only thing that matters is the way his eyes flicker—just for a moment—before they roll back, losing themselves in the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock like a vice.

The sight of him, consumed, his control slipping away, it makes your pulse quicken. That’s what counts. Nothing else.

Now, it’s his turn.

You watch as his body trembles with the effort, each breath coming harder than the last. His skin is alive with a tremor of its own, covered in shivers that tell you just how much he’s enjoying this. It’s rough beneath your touch, heated, and flushed from the monumental physical effort he’s putting in. Sweat clings to his hair, dripping and curling the way you find so irresistible, a stark contrast to the taut lines of muscle across his chest, now straining with each movement. His arms are firm, powerful, holding you in place with a force that leaves no room for escape. You’re helpless, defenseless.

But it’s his hands that draw your attention—his fingers digging into your thighs with a strength that borders on brutal, marking you as his, pulling you closer, tighter, until there’s no space left between you. You can’t go anywhere. You can feel every inch of his tension, every subtle flex of his muscles as they ripple beneath your touch, the weight of his need pressing against you with a force you can’t ignore.

“Gimme your cum, daddy. Make me swollen with it, please. I need it, need it.”

It’s a good feeling.

He spits, and it lands on your face. It’s messy, a little bit of it goes inside your eye- it makes it harder to blink. But you don’t care, cause it’s fucking worth it. He humiliates you, makes you feel small and useless. He uses his hand to rub his spit on your skin, marking you as his property.

“Gonna fucking breed you, baby. Gonna cum so deep inside of you you’re gonna stain your panties for days- fuck. Gonna make you walk out of here with my cum dripping out of you- and I hope he sees it. Hope that fucker sees that you’re my slut- my fucking cum dump.”

Jaewon. Fuck, you’ll bake the dude a batch of cookies for having made Chan lose his temper like this. It’s the best feeling ever.

“Yes! Yes! Please, please, I’m your cum dump, j-just a toy, daddy, please!”

He leans forward.

Bangchan’s forehead rests against yours, and your gazes lock, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to find each other. The connection is undeniable, unshakable, as if something far greater than either of you is pulling you together. The sensation is intense, almost primal in its depth. It roots itself in the very core of your being, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed. You know, instinctively, that no words could ever do it justice. No description, no matter how vivid, could capture the raw, visceral power of this moment.

So you let go.

You surrender to the feeling, trembling as it washes over you, and you give yourself to him completely—mind, body, and soul. The tip of his cock rubs at the perfect place- it makes you see stars. You feel it all the way to your stomach, which is probably bulging with the intensity of his thrusts.

Your folds are aching, your clit keeps on pulsing and you know damn well that you’re gonna cum again- as soon as he does. Because for you nothing is more important and valuable than his pleasure. Enough to make you cum all over again, no matter what.

“Mine. Mine, my pussy, my baby, all mine,” he says. It’s- disconnected. Messy. He’s just saying things, calling you name and promising you that you’re gonna get bred. You pet his hair, you pull at it.

You stick your tongue out and look at him with hunger in your eyes as he forces his cock inside your hole a few last times.

“You look like a fucking whore,” he comments, groaning deeply before letting himself go.

He succumbs, falling into the abyss of desire alongside you. He lets himself go completely, his body seized by violent, overwhelming spasms that ripple through him with unrelenting force. And you, calm and yielding, accept it all, embracing him as he shatters in your arms.

He buries his cock all the way inside of your body, and you feel it pulse with every sprout of cum that he lets out. Over and over again. You feel it- warm and thick and dense. You cum with him, because of course you do. And you do it more for him than for yourself. You do it cause your pussy tightens up for him and makes his orgasm way more intense. He says so, too.

“Take it. Good fucking girl. All my cum baby, daddy’s cum is breeding you.”

It is, or at least you hope so.

It would be a waste otherwise. You want it to take, and you know it’s crazy, but you don’t care. You’ll give him anything, everything.

“So good, daddy. I feel so full, t-thank you.”

He kisses your forehead. Sweet, despite being still buried to the hilt inside your gaping cunt.

Despite the fact that cum is dripping from your hole and sliding down his cock- all the way to his balls. Messy. Messy. Messy.

“So polite, baby. You’re my princess, right? I love you so much.”

His words carry the taste of a smile, warm and intoxicating, and you can’t get enough of it. It’s as if each syllable wraps itself around you, pulling you closer, filling every corner of your being with an insatiable need for more. You bite your lip, the gesture both instinctive and deliberate, as your fingers trace the strong lines of his shoulders. The touch is soft, almost reverent, as though grounding yourself in the reality of him.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice low but unwavering. “More than anything else.”

The words fall between you like a promise, heavy with truth, with an undefined purpose, and the way he looks at you in return makes you feel as though the whole world could fall away, disappear in a fleeting instant, and you wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t matter.

“Thank you,” he adds. You know why he’s thanking you, but you shush him anyways.

“Don’t. Don’t thank me, baby. There’s no need.”

He scoffs, placing soft, gentle kisses on your cheek and down your neck.

“I know. Wanna do it anyways, so please let me, okay?” He smiles, rubbing his cheek against yours before sliding his nose over your skin, trying to touch you in any way possible.

“Okay. Just this once.”

He’s satisfied with your response, and you let him take a moment to recover—truthfully, this moment of tenderness is as much for you as it is for him.

He’s putting you back together. Piece by jagged piece, he’s gathering the fragments of you, reshaping them, giving them new form and color. His touch is gentle, reverent. He caresses you, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your skin, and his lips find yours in soft, lingering kisses. You return the gestures, mirroring his care, your hands and lips speaking the language of gratitude and love without the need for words.

His fingers tease along your side, the touch light and playful, and you respond with a mischievous grin, sinking your teeth into his shoulder in a playful bite. It’s a small act of rebellion, an answer to his teasing, and the way he chuckles softly in response fills the air between you with warmth.

“Mean puppy,” he reprimands you, and you wiggle your eyebrows, “wasn’t I a cat?” you ask, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“A hybrid? Wasn’t that something you were reading the other day?”

You blush, but you’re kinda happy he remembers everything you tell him despite how busy his life is.

“Yeah, but I’m not one. You are. Wolf hybrid.”

He howls. Of course he does. He’s- he’s the love of your life for a fucking reason, after all.

And you wouldn’t change what you just have for a thing in the whole world.

You both get dressed slowly, taking your time, and he helps you clean up. With a soft smile, he reaches for the brush you keep here at the studio and gently untangles your messy hair. You always leave a small bag with a few of your things here—essentials for the long hours you spend keeping him company. It was his idea, of course. He bought everything you might need, insisting that you leave it here.

It’s one of the countless ways he shows you he loves you, small gestures that speak volumes.

“Damn it! The pizza!” you exclaim suddenly, just as you’re pulling on your hoodie.

Bangchan laughs, the sound light and carefree, as he checks his phone, which had been sitting on the table nearby. It’s much later than you’d realized, and you probably missed the call when your phone rang.

“It’s fine, baby,” he reassures you, slipping his jacket on with ease. “I’ll just run to the shop across the street and grab something, okay?”

You pout a little, feeling disappointed because you’d wanted everything to be perfect. But he’s quick to notice, and even quicker to fix it. He steps close, his hands warm on your face as he kisses that pout away, effortlessly melting your frustration in the way only he can.

Then, with that familiar cheeky grin, he tousles your freshly brushed hair, undoing his work on purpose. The playful act earns him a sharp glare from you, but his laughter in response is worth every second of your mock indignation.

“Be quick? Please? I’m hungry. Starving. I’ll probably die if I don’t eat, actually.”

He shakes his head, shoving his wallet inside the pocket of his pants. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I promise.”

He opens the door of the studio, ready to leave.

Fortunately, you spot the obstacle before he has the chance to trip over it.

“Channie, watch out!” you exclaim, pointing at the floor.

His expression shifts to one of confusion, his eyes widening slightly as he follows the direction of your finger. On the ground, two pizza boxes lie in an awkward heap, a small note resting on top of them. With a sigh, you drop onto the couch, crossing your legs as you settle into a comfortable position, content to watch how this unfolds.

He crouches down, gathering the boxes to his chest, his brow furrowing as he grabs the note. You study his face while he reads it carefully, his lips moving faintly as he takes in the words.

“I tried knocking, but I figured it was better to leave. Hope it doesn’t get cold. —Jaewon.”

You feel heat rush to your face, a wave of embarrassment washing over you as the situation sinks in. But he just smiles—a smug, satisfied sort of smile that only adds to your growing mortification. Shaking your head, you try to hide your amusement as he crumples the note in his hand and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tosses it over his shoulder. Somehow, it lands perfectly in the trash can.

“Show-off,” you mutter under your breath, though you let it slide this time.

“Pizza!” he exclaims, his voice triumphant and brimming with energy, as though he’s just won a hard-fought victory. With the heel of his foot, he kicks the door closed behind him, the soft thud signaling the end of the brief interruption.

A smile lingers in the air between you—yours, his, what difference does it make? It belongs to both of you, in a moment that feels perfectly, unmistakably yours.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ More Than a Friend

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.4K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: took her long enough

PAIGE COLLAPSES onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The sheets stick to her back, damp with sweat, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin should be a relief, but it isn’t. Her limbs feel heavy, her body exhausted in the way it only gets after something physical and intense. She stretches an arm over her head, her hand grazing the headboard as her eyes drift to the ceiling.

The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Hers is slow and measured now, but Celeste’s is lighter, almost content, a satisfied hum vibrating in the air. For a moment, Paige doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her, as if avoiding it will somehow make the growing discomfort in her chest go away.

Eventually, she turns her head, her gaze landing on Celeste. She’s curled up on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow in fiery streaks, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy. Her lips are swollen, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners, her cheeks still flushed. She looks pretty.

Paige should feel something about that. She should feel good, even great. Celeste is undeniably gorgeous, all sharp edges and bold features, with an energy that draws people in effortlessly. The sex had been good. Objectively. Celeste knew what to do, and, even when she didn’t, Paige is good enough to guide them both into feeling good.

But instead of any sort of satisfaction, all Paige feels is this strange, gnawing emptiness.

Her eyes dart back to the ceiling, her throat dry as she tries to make sense of it. She replays the night in her mind, searching for something to explain the heaviness sitting low in her stomach. It wasn’t bad—there was nothing bad about it. Celeste was enthusiastic, responsive, and confident. Technically, it should have been great.

But it wasn’t.

Paige’s gaze finds Celeste again, drawn back to the red of her hair and the sharp green of her eyes, colors so vivid they almost don’t seem real. She watches the way Celeste’s lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. Celeste looks completely at ease, and for a fleeting moment, Paige envies her.

But as she stares, the unease in her chest only deepens. It’s not something tangible, not something she can name, at least not at first. It’s just there, this persistent, nagging feeling that won’t let her settle.

And then it hits her, creeping up slow and quiet before slamming into her with full force.

Her eyes are green.

And her hair is red.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tightening as the thought lodges itself in her mind, impossible to ignore now. Celeste’s eyes are a vivid, almost unnatural green, like gemstones catching the lights. But they’re not soft, warm brown. They don’t have that quiet, steady depth that Paige knows so well. They don’t look at her with that mix of amusement or exasperation, or light up when she says something stupidly charming without meaning to.

And that hair—bright, bold, unmistakable—is nothing like the soft brown waves that fall messily into the face Paige could pick out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

Her stomach twists, the realization settling like a heavy weight she can’t shake. The reason it didn’t feel right—the reason she feels so off now, so unsatisfied—isn’t complicated, not really. It’s actually painfully simple.

Celeste isn’t Jo.

The thought feels almost treacherous, and Paige immediately tries to push it away, to rationalize it. This isn’t about Jo. It can’t be about Jo. Jo’s her best friend, and Celeste is someone she’s been flirting with on and off for months. That’s all this is.

But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the comparison, can’t stop her mind from drifting back to Jo. To the way her laugh sounds when Paige says something ridiculous, to the way her eyes soften when Paige is hurting and tries too hard to hide it. To the way Jo feels safe in a way no one else ever has.

Her vision goes blurry as she continues to stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t just a crush. It isn’t some fleeting infatuation she can laugh off or dismiss. The way her chest aches at the thought of Jo, the way her body feels like it’s caught between fight and flight—it’s too much to be anything simple. This is something deeper, something terrifying, something that feels like it has the power to completely ruin her.

Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with her bare hands. Every thought she’s been suppressing, every feeling she’s tried to bury, comes rushing to the surface all at once.

She likes Jo. She really, really likes Jo.

Jo is straight. That’s the first thing her brain throws at her, as if it’s some immovable fact that should end this line of thinking entirely. Jo has been with Asher since the eighth grade. Asher, who’s practically a part of her family, who’s been there for every milestone, every major moment in her life. Asher, who Jo is probably going to end up marrying and have perfect little babies with.

Paige’s jaw clenches at the thought and she tries to push it aside. But it’s not just that, though—it’s everything else. If she acted on this, if she said something, it could ruin everything. The team chemistry, the easy friendship they’ve built, the balance that holds her whole fucking life together—it could all come crashing down.

And even if—if—Jo liked her back, which she absolutely, definitely doesn’t, what then? What would that even look like? Relationships don’t work. Not for Paige. Not for anyone, really.

Her parents are the perfect cautionary tale. Their marriage had been a battlefield, full of screaming matches and screamed doors that Paige can faintly recall despite being so young. Eventually, they gave up and split. And then her dad remarried, and her mom remarried, and Paige got front-row seats to not one, but two more failed attempts at love.

She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do love. It’s a joke, a setup for inevitable heartbreak, and she’s not stupid enough to fall for it.

But as much as she tries to convince herself, the thoughts keep circling back to Jo. To the sunshine in her veins, the sugar in blood, the constant smile on her face. She thinks about the way they’d slept last night, tangled up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Paige’s brain pulses in the confines of her skull, the overwhelming mix of emotions bubbling up until it feels like too much to bear. She can’t stay here. She can’t lie in this bed next to Celeste, her skin still tingling with the remnants of something that feels absolutely meaningless, and keep thinking about Jo.

Paige abruptly sits up, the sheets sliding off her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. She glances around the dark room, searching for her clothes in the scattered mess on the floor.

Celeste stirs on the bed, her voice groggy as she props herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?” she asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“I, uh…” Paige stammers, pulling on her sweatpants quickly. “I need to go. Something came up.”

Celeste sits up fully now, her confusion melting into mild irritation. “It’s, like, two in the morning,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What could possibly have come up?”

Paige doesn’t look at her, doesn’t stop moving. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements rushed and clumsy. “I just… I forgot I got somethin’ early,” she says vaguely, the words tumbling out in a way that even she knows sounds ridiculous.

Celeste sighs, her irritation softening into something more resigned. “Right,” she says, flopping back against the pillows. “Okay.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her as she finishes gathering her things. She knows she’s being rude but she hardly cares.

All she really cares about is getting out of there, away from the suffocating realization that has completely consumed her.

PAIGE PRACTICALLY sprints back to the dorms, the cool night air doing nothing to calm her racing mind. Her heart pounds, not just from the hurried walk but from the weight of, well, everything. She keeps pace, her thoughts a chaotic mess of Jo’s face, Jo’s laugh, Jo’s touch—Jo, Jo, Jo.

When she reaches her building and finally climbs the stairs to her apartment, she pauses, hand on the door handle. Jo’s probably inside, either in the kitchen making some late-night snack or curled up in the living room watching The Vampire Diaries and talking to Asher on speakerphone.

The thought makes Paige nauseous. She can’t face Jo right now—not with the realization still so fresh, so raw. She knows she’ll give herself away the second their eyes meet, and she can’t risk that.

So instead of opening the door to their apartment, Paige pushes herself up one more flight of stairs to the next floor, where Aubrey, Caroline, and Aaliyah live.

When she steps inside their apartment, the soft hum of a TV fills the air. Carol and Lili are nowhere to be seen, but Aubrey is sprawled on the couch with Azzi, the two of them laughing at whatever show they’re watching. Paige’s heart lifts slightly at the sight of Azzi—she hadn’t expected her to be here, but her best friend’s presence feels like a lifeline.

Both Aubrey and Azzi glance up as the door shuts behind Paige. They take one look at her face, and their expressions shift immediately, concern knitting both of their brows.

“You good?” Aubrey asks, sitting up straighter.

Azzi echoes the question, tilting her head slightly as she studies Paige.

Paige hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob, her throat tightening as her eyes start to well up. She can feel the tears coming before she even has a chance to fight them back. She bites her lip, staring at the two of them as the words she doesn’t want to say sit heavy on the tip of her tongue.

Finally, in a voice so quiet and pathetic it doesn’t sound at all like her own, she croaks out, “You were right.”

Azzi looks lost, scrunching her face up. “Right about what?” she asks, glancing between Paige and Aubrey.

But Aubrey’s already caught on, lips parting as the realization dawns on her. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the couch, giving Paige a look that’s equal parts knowing and sympathetic.

Paige presses her lips together, her chest tightening under the weight of Aubrey’s silent understanding. She glances down, blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill, before finally crossing the room and flopping down onto the floor in front of the couch. She lays on her back, burying her face in her hands.

Azzi frowns, her confusion only growing. “What’s going on? What’re you taking about?”

Paige lets out a shaky breath, her voice muffled by her hands. “I like Jo,” she finally says, her throat thick with emotion. She pauses, her heart hammering as the words settle in the room, as real as they’ve ever been. “More than a friend. A lot more than a friend.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, the confession lingering in the air like a raw wound. Eventually, Paige hears the shuffle of the couch cushions, followed by the quiet creak of Aubrey leaning forward.

“So,” Aubrey starts carefully. “You like Jo. Like like her.”

Paige groans in response, dragging her hands down her face. “Didn’t I just say that?” Her voice is still muffled, but the frustration seeps through anyway. She glances up at them briefly, only to drop her head back down against the floor. “I’m so fucked, bro.”

Azzi shifts next to Aubrey, her long legs stretched out on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, watching Paige with an expression that Paige can’t quite read. It’s not shock, though. In fact, Azzi looks almost… resigned. Like she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

“I mean,” she says softly, “it’s not like it’s a huge surprise.”

That pulls Paige’s head up. Her eyes narrow at Azzi, her stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”

Azzi shrugs, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her amusement. “Come on, P. You’re not exactly subtle. The way you’re always looking at her, how you laugh at everything she says even when it’s not funny—”

“She is funny,” Paige cuts in defensively.

“Sure,” Azzi says with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s more than that, and you know it.”

Paige groans again, louder this time. Her eyes wander to the ceiling, the harsh overhead light making her eyes sting. “God, this is so—fuck, man.”

“Look,” Aubrey says. “I get it. Jo’s… she’s great. She’s funny and sweet, and yeah, she really pretty. But she’s got Asher. And she’s straight.” She pauses, letting the words settle. “You’re kinda setting yourself up to get hurt.”

Paige clenches her jaw, kissing her teeth. “You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, sitting up abruptly, her eyes a blue fire as she stares at Aubrey. “You think I don’t know that she’s got her perfect boy next door that she’s gonna fuckin’ marry and have kids with? You think I don’t know that this is never gonna happen?”

Her voice wavers, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how exposed. She looks down, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanna like her. But it’s just now that I’ve, like, figured it out… Ion know how I’m ever not. Because she’s—fuck, she’s perfect. She’s just… she’s perfect.” Her voice cracks on the last couple words and Paige hastily wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape her eye.

Azzi and Aubrey share a glance, and Paige notices it. She hates feeling like a charity case, like someone they need to pity or fix.

Finally, Azzi speaks, her voice quieter this time. “It’s okay to have feelings, Paige. You can’t control that. What matters is how you handle them.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, I’m handling them great, aren’t I?”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is firm, but there’s a softness underneath it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to beat yourself up for liking her. It’s not something you chose.”

The blonde lets a bitter laugh escape her. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosin’ this.”

Aubrey sighs. “No one’s saying it’s easy, but you gotta be realistic. We just don’t wanna see you torture yourself over this.”

Paige wraps her arms around her knees as she looks between the two of them. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? Just stop liking her? How do I do that? Someone, please fuckin’ tell me, because I’m losin’ my mind.”

Neither of them answers right away. Aubrey looks thoughtful, while Azzi stares at the TV, her lips pressed together. Paige feels the desperation clawing at her chest, her heart racing as the silence stretches on.

Finally, Azzi speaks. “Maybe you need space.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard. “Space?”

Azzi nods, still looking at the TV. “Yeah. Like… maybe being around her all the time will make this harder for you, just make your feelings grow. So, maybe you need to take a step back, give yourself some time to clear your head.”

Paige frowns. The idea of putting distance between herself and Jo feels impossible. But, at the same time, she can’t deny that Azzi might have a point.

“I don’t know,” Azzi continues, finally turning to look at Paige. “You’re going back to LA in a couple of days, and you’re gonna be there for a few more weeks. Maybe that’ll give you a better chance to figure things out without her right in front of you.”

Paige hesitates, her throat sore. She knows Azzi’s probably right, knows that putting some space between herself and Jo could be exactly what she needs. But the thought makes her ache.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.

JO SITS cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her fingers hovering idly over the keyboard. The document on her screen is due tomorrow, but she’s been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now. Her thoughts keep drifting, circling back to one person.

Paige has been distant. More than distant—aloof, like she’s there but not really. Jo hasn’t seen much of her since media day, which is strange. Paige always makes time for her, no matter how busy things get. They’re roommates, sure, but it’s more than that—they’ve become close, inseparable even, and it doesn’t sit right that Paige is suddenly pulling today. Especially this week.

Paige is leaving for LA again, and Jo was hoping to spend more time with her before she goes back. She wanted to squeeze in a movie night, maybe order some takeout and sit around laughing about dumb things like they always do. But instead, Paige has either been locked in her room or entirely out of the apartment for the last few days.

When Jo hears the door to the blonde’s room creak open, her heart lifts a little, and she shifts her gaze over, sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice warm and bright, like always.

Paige barely looks at her, muttering a quick, “Hi,” as she heads toward the kitchen. Jo frowns, watching her move with a sort of stiffness that’s entirely unlike her. It’s not just that she’s quiet—Jo’s pretty sure that Paige is avoiding her, and she feels the sting of it more than she’d like to admit.

She doesn’t say anything, though. Jo isn’t the kind of person who pushes, not unless she has to. She’s learned that sometimes people need space, and maybe that’s all this is. Still, her chest tightens as she watches Paige pull a water from the fridge, looking like she’s in a hurry as she does so.

“Am I still driving you to the airport?” Jo asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn’t think she’d have to question it because they made the plan together, but considering the fact that they’ve barely spoken the past few days, Jo can’t help but wonder.

And it seems she was right to because Paige pauses. “Oh, nah,” she says after a beat, her voice flat. “Azzi’s taking me.”

Jo blinks. She’s not really caught off guard just because Paige has been acting so weird, but she still feels the twist of disappointment in her stomach. She was hoping she’d be able to talk to her and see her during drive, but clearly she doesn’t even get that.

Still, Jo forces a smile. “Oh, okay,” she says lightly, though she feels anything but.

Paige doesn’t offer an explanation, and Jo doesn’t ask for one. She watched as Paige retreat back to her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the apartment suddenly feels heavier than before, and Jo lets out a soft sigh, sinking back into the couch.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Paige is probably just stressed or tired or something. It’s not about her. It can’t be. But the thought nags at her anyway, like an itch she can’t stretch.

And it continues to nag at her a few hours later as they hug by the apartment door, saying goodbye. Jo hugs her tightly, normally, but she can feel how stiff Paige is, how oddly awkward the embrace feels. It’s like Paige is already halfway out the door, and Jo’s heart aches with the realization.

“Bye,” Paige says as she pulls back, her voice quiet.

“Bye,” Jo echoes, her smile faltering as she watches Paige pick up her suitcase and head out the door. The sound of it closing behind her feels final, like a book slamming shut.

Jo stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Her mind raced, replaying every interaction they’ve had over the past few days, searching for something she might’ve done wrong. Something that could explain why Paige is acting like this.

She doesn’t come up with anything, but the doubt lingers, gnawing at her. Jo sighs, walking back to her bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. She presses her hands to her face, frustration and sadness bubbling up in her chest.

She tells herself that it’s okay, that it’s nothing, that by the time Paige gets back to Storrs in a few weeks, everything will be normal again.

She hopes so, at least, because she really doesn’t like the alternative.

IN LA, the sun feels sharp, unrelenting, even if it’s nearing November. Paige sits in her rental car outside the rehab facility, her phone in her lap, the screen dark but heavy. She knows what’s waiting for her in there—a grueling session of strength-building and balance work, another step toward getting back to basketball. But basketball hasn’t been the loudest thing in her mind for weeks now. It should be—God, it should be—but instead, it’s Jo.

Paige clenches her jaw and tosses her phone into the passenger seat, annoyed with herself. Thinking about Jo doesn’t help, not here, not anywhere. That’s why she’s done everything to avoid it: random girls in unfamiliar beds, their hands and mouths a fleeting distraction; sporadic texts to Jo, just enough to keep her from asking too many questions; ignoring every call, every FaceTime, and hoping Jo doesn’t notice the glaring difference between nearly every night and never anymore. She has to be catching on by now. Paige knows Jo isn’t stupid.

Still, the guilt doesn’t outweigh the distance. Paige grips the steering wheel, staring at the rehab center’s sliding glass doors but not really seeing them. Distance is necessary—it has to be. If Paige doesn’t put this buffer between them, if she doesn’t actively suppress everything she feels, she’s going to ruin things. She’ll make it weird, or worse, permanent. She’s trying to protect their friendship. She’s trying to protect the team. She’s trying to protect her own heart.

And yet.

Her chest aches every time she picks up the phone and sees Jo’s name, every time she types out a half-hearted excuse about being too busy to talk. Rehab has been fine, she supposes—her knee is slowly regaining its strength, her trainers say she’s on track—but Jo’s absence looks larger than it should. Paige didn’t realize how much Jo’s voice at the end of the day had anchored her, how their FaceTimes had become her favorite part of LA the first few weeks she was here, before she realized everything. She misses Jo more than she should—more than is safe—and no amount of flings with strangers or silent self-lectures seems to change that.

The worst part is that none of it is working. The random girls are a distraction, sure, but only in the moment. They don’t fill the void, not really. Every time Paige wakes up, whether that be alone or tangled with unfamiliar limbs, her mind inevitably drifts back to Jo. To her laugh, her smile, the way she tilts her head just slightly when she’s focused on something. It’s infuriating how vivid Jo feels in her memory, like she’s carved into Paige’s consciousness.

Paige exhales sharply and runs a hand over her face, the rough skin of her palm scraping against her jaw. She tells herself to get it together. She knows this spiraling isn’t productive, but the more she tries to stop thinking about Jo, the more Jo consumes her thoughts. She thinks of Jo’s hugs—warm, grounding, so completely Jo. She thinks about their so-called sleepovers, the two of them sprawled on either of their beds watching The Vampire Diaries, Jo throwing popcorn at Paige whenever she made fun of Stefan Salvatore.

The memory makes her chest twist painfully. She hasn’t even watched the show since she’s been in LA; it feels wrong to do it without Jo. It feels like cheating somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. Besides, it’s just another reminder of the girl she’s actively trying to not think about.

But, like always, she’s thinking about her right now and it reminds her of the text she saw pop up on her phone last night that she never responded to. Sighing, she reaches for the device and opens iMessages, feeling bad for taking so long to even read the text let alone respond.

Ma freshie 💘

hey, how are you? how’s rehab??

it’s been a minute just wanted to say i miss you

Paige stares at the message. I miss you. She knows that Jo misses her. She knows that. But she also knows that she doesn’t miss her in the way that Paige wants her to.

Her thumb hovers over the screen. She wants to respond. She wants to say, I miss you too. Rehab sucks, I wish you were here. She wants to apologize for pulling away, to explain herself, but how do you say, Sorry, I’m avoiding you because I kinda think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me?

Instead, she types a lie.

PB 😱😱

Sorry I’ve been busy as hell

Rehab’s going fine tho

Hope you’re good don’t have too much fun at practice without me

Her chest tightens as she sends them. Jo deserves better then this, and Paige knows it. But then Paige reminds herself that she does have better than this—she has Asher. Which is probably all she’ll ever need.

Paige shakes her head, grabbing her water bottle from the cup holder and stepping out of the car. She can’t keep doing this to herself. Jo is back in Storrs, living her life, and Paige needs to do the same. She needs to focus on her recovery, on getting back on the court, on being the best damn basketball player she can be. This thing she feels for Jo? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

She slams the car door shut and heads toward the rehab center, trying to leave the ache in her chest behind. It follows her anyway.

[antinousletmehit]

Okay here me out please… can you pretty please write a Telemachus x reader where when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this begger disguise reader starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching reader just like ody did for Penelope when they were teenagers and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior reader is, ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳

୨୧┇Telemachus x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The hall of Ithaca’s palace echoed with the crude laughter of the suitors, their voices grating as they lounged at tables meant for nobler men. Odysseus, disguised as a beggar, shuffled into the room, his weathered cloak draped over his shoulders. He kept his head low, scanning the faces of those who had sullied his home. The suitors noticed him almost immediately.

“Well, look at this!” Antinous sneered, rising from his seat. “Another beggar come to steal what little is left of the feast!” The others laughed, and Eurymachus leaned back, gesturing mockingly. “Shall we toss him a scrap or two, Antinous? Or maybe your leftover bones will do?” Odysseus gritted his teeth but said nothing, his hands tightening on his staff. Before he could respond, however, you stepped forward.

“Enough!” you snapped, your voice sharp and commanding. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to you. You were no servant or passive bystander, you were a fierce protector of the palace, one of the few who still stood loyal to Ithaca and its rightful king.

“This man has done nothing to you,” you continued, your eyes narrowing at Antinous. “If you have any shred of decency left, you’ll leave him be.” Antinous scoffed, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “And what will you do if I don’t? Throw me out yourself?” “If I have to,” you replied, your hand resting on the hilt of your blade.

“You always have to play the hero, don’t you?” Eurymachus muttered, rolling his eyes. “Better a hero than a parasite,” you shot back.

At that, the room erupted into murmurs, some of the younger suitors chuckling nervously. Telemachus, standing near the doorway, watched you with wide eyes, his heart racing. The way you stood your ground, fearlessly defying men who thought themselves untouchable, made his chest tighten. Odysseus, still playing the part of the beggar, smirked as he caught sight of his son’s lovestruck expression. Leaning toward Telemachus, he whispered, “I approve of this one.”

Telemachus’s face flushed a deep red. “Father, please,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“She’s got fire,” Odysseus continued, his voice low and amused. “That’s what you need, boy—a woman who won’t back down. Just look at her.” Telemachus did look. He couldn’t help it. The way you glared at Antinous, daring him to make a move, left him in awe.

Antinous, meanwhile, was fuming. “You’ve overstepped,” he growled, taking a step toward you. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stepped forward as well, meeting him head on. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Before the tension could escalate further, Odysseus cleared his throat, drawing attention back to himself. “Perhaps you should listen to the lady,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “She seems to be the only one here with sense.” Antinous glared at him but reluctantly backed down, muttering curses under his breath.

As the suitors returned to their seats, Odysseus turned to you, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Thank you,” he said softly. You nodded, though your gaze remained sharp as you watched the suitors warily. “Someone has to stand up to them.”

Telemachus stepped closer, his heart still pounding. “You were incredible,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through your serious demeanor. “Thank you, Telemachus.”

Odysseus smirked again, clapping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “She’s a keeper, lad. Don’t let this one slip away.” Telemachus’s face turned scarlet, and he stammered something unintelligible. You tilted your head, curious but amused by his sudden shyness.

[yinyunnsworld]

High school Au

I never knew I’d come to like high school romances and the fact it’s the most cliche one: popular boy x quiet girl? Bro i was playing this one cai bot (cause i’m delusional) and there was this popular boy bot. I was like??? Ajdbxjehnen. You know, I’m almost graduating already and in the animes, they’re just starting their first year of high school meanwhile I’m already there at the end of everything. So here, I’m gonna share a prompt with you guys and uh this is mostly what i do at highschool back then:

Characters: various x readers.

Word: 1.1k

Warning: can be ooc. A train of thoughts so it’s messy. Typos are to beware of. Broken grammar. Unedited. First draft.

Imagine you’re an average student. Sure, you did have friends, you did your work splendidly, and although you’re not an academically smart or active student, the teachers still remembered you pretty much. You never played in the popular kids’ circles since most of the time, those students would outcast others who tried to be part of the circle when they had nothing to offer. It’s like a sore thumb sticking out and you’re just there, supposedly ruining their aesthetics with your ‘weird’ and ‘boring’ personality.

But you’re not bullied as well! You’re just very much a wallflower that if you were to blend in with the geek kids, you’ll stand out too much. Yet if you blend with the cool kids, you’re too bland.

That was until he came.

At first, he found you to be a rather boring person since you didn’t talk much yet when you did, you had the whole audience staring at you. By that I mean, when you came forth to perform a speech or any speaking assignment in front of the class, you knew what to do to make attention land on you. Even when you stepped down from the stage, that charm immediately vanished and you returned to nobody.

You would still be able to make lots of acquaintances with lots of people although they’re necessarily not your friends. When he asked others if they knew you by one coincidental day in which he didn’t even realize your image was playing in his head, and he’d unconsciously asked about you, others would tell him, ‘Yeah, I know her.’

And despite always downplaying things, he would sometimes scroll through your social media account by accident. He claimed that he did it because your recent post of you hanging out at your friend’s birthday party showed up on his feed (none of you followed each other since he was too conscious to even follow you), he saw that you posted mostly of yourself and of your friends. Well, perhaps there weren’t that many posts on your account since you didn���t exactly use it that much, but when you did post something, he would check on your profile to see if he missed out on your other previous posts. Sometimes, he would accidentally even click on your story, leaving a trail of his user visible on your history. Before he knew it, he already cursed himself for accidentally clicking on your story, but damn did the view you posted on the story seemed awesome.

Eventually, as time passed by, he grew to be more and more curious of you. There were instances where he would offer to be the leader of an assignment group just to take you as his member (he promised it was because he wanted your usefulness and all the skills you could offer that could help boost this assignment’s grade, even if his other friends disagreed).

And during sport’s day, where everyone was basically bathed in their murky and awful sweats, he would find you around the canteen area, attempting to buy drinks without getting busted by the teachers since it wasn’t recess yet. He would use this as a chance and made his way around to the canteen, showing up beside you and bought two drinks. One for him and one for you. He left the drink on the counter, in which you grabbed it and called out to him, and he turned around and spoke, “Oh, that’s for you.” With that, he ran away (thinking he was so smooth, huh?)

Sometimes, he would find you standing in the hallway after school, staring down at the courtyard on your way home. You would often take another route and it would change most of the times just to stall your time, not to go home too soon and enjoy the quietness of the school’s ground when there’s no disturbances. He got intrigued as he noticed your constantly changing route and would follow you from behind, a few feet away of course and acted like he was going home through that route too. Although, in fact he was just curious and wanted to know what you’d be doing after school if you’re not active or part of any activity group.

He would snicker when he watched you wait for someone to come and pick you up from school and you were sitting down on the floor. There was a huge black fat cat that came crawling towards you and sat on your thighs without your prior notice, making a claim on your lap as though it’s the cat’s decision whether or not it could sleep there. You’d panic yet you couldn’t push him off and looked around for help since your pick up had already arrived and you needed to get home soon. He showed up from the corner and helped you take the cat away from your lap. You’d thank him and left already, hurrying to your pick-up driver. He smiled friendly, although the cat glared at him.

And finally, he began to talk to you. Little by little, one by one, conversations between you two were exchanged. He didn’t think you’d actually have some complexity in your character despite always displaying yourself to be a quiet and boring person. You can be loud at times, weird, witty, and sometimes awkward and just embarrassing.

Slowly, the two of you became friends. And he didn’t acknowledge the fact that his heart was already advancing beyond the word ‘friendship’, it’d grown far too unsalvageable. But whenever he saw your oblivious smile to his feelings, he wanted to squish your cheek and pull you to a kiss to actually get the fact drilled in your head that he liked you a lot. But he didn’t and simply laughed at you whenever you’re oblivious to his advances, ruffling your hair to a mess. He would do anything to tease you and annoy you but never to actually lay a hand on you and hurt you like that.

He would just have to wait for the right time to say that he liked you.

Thus, he waited, and waited, and waited…

And now you’re here, celebrating that you’re finally graduating. And he would finally come to you, yet immediately turned cowardly to actually say something to you since you were smiling that day, taking pictures with almost everyone—even the ones you didn’t like because you didn’t want to leave regrets behind. He didn’t want to ruin anything for you, thus he simply remained silent and threw a fist of flour and poured it over to you out of playfulness in which he’d kept that grip of flour behind his back already this whole time.

[nanenna]

“Then don’t,” Kon replied simply. He threw himself back into the grass, his legs getting thrown in the air before plopping back down to earth. He tucked one hand behind his head and used the other to point up at the sky. “See those three stars in a row?”

The person was silent for a moment before hesitantly answering, “Yeah?”

“That’s Orion’s belt. It’s one of the easiest constellations to find in the northern hemisphere.”

“Just those three stars?”

“Well those two are his shoulders and those two are his hips or knees or something,” Kon said conversationally as he pointed out said stars. “There’s more to it, but I can’t remember the rest.” He glanced over at his stargazing companion, they seemed just a little less see through, glowing a little bit brighter. Guess he did a good job distracting them. He went on to point out the big and little dipper, complete with Polaris. He didn’t know many of the constellations, just some of what Tim had taught him for navigating. Finding which way was north was really useful, if you can find north you can also find east and west.

Kon glanced over again to see his companion’s eyes had drifted closed, their face peaceful. That seemed weird, if they were already dreaming were they dreaming they were asleep?

Wait, were they getting more see-through?

Slowly, bit by bit, they were definitely getting more see through, until all that was left behind was a barely there indent in the grass. Kon put his hand to it and the grass felt cold, not cool, downright cold. The only hints that someone had been there at all. This was definitely something he needed to ask his team about.

Kon gave a jaw cracking yawn.

In the morning, this would be something to ask for advice on in the morning.

✦✧✦

The next time Kon saw his mystery visitor was early evening nearly a week later. He’d prepared for this, he’d memorised all the constellations visible this time of year, several star facts, and a list of information to try to get out of them. Currently they were sitting on a split rail fence, face turned towards the setting sun, feet gently kicking the air. It was odd, watching their feet swing. On the upswing they had a full leg: pants, toes, and all. On the downswing the leg faded to nothing shortly below the knee.

Kon intentionally made noise as he walked closer, not wanting to startle his guest. “Hello again,” he called gently as he approached.

The visitor turned slowly at his voice. Their eyes opened and blinked in surprise, then a smile lit up their face. Literally lit them up. Made them look just a bit more solid too, enough that Kon could guess they looked like a kid, somewhere in their early to mid teens. Maybe. Just because a lot of aliens looked similar to humans didn’t mean they aged the same.

Kon smiled back, both happy and sad to see them again. He leaned against the top of the fence one section down from his guest. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

“Neither was I, but I guess I should've.” They laughed to themself a little at that, already turning to face the sun again, their face peaceful as they basked in the warm rays.

“My name’s Kon, by the way. Kon El, he/him.”

His guest hummed in acknowledgement, though his brows furrowed in confusion near the end. “He… him…?”

“Sure, makes it easier to refer to someone by their pronouns if they’re part of introductions.”

They turned to look Kon up and down in confusion. “... okay?” They turned back to their sunbathing, little that they would have left.

“... And what should I call you?” he eventually asked.

His guest huffed a quiet little laugh before replying, eyes still closed and face turned to the sun, “Danny.” Such a strangely human sounding name. Then again a lot of names sound pretty similar, there’s only so many ways a mouth like theirs can form sounds. After a moment they tacked on, “He/him.”

Kon wasn’t sure if they- if he just copied Kon’s pronouns or if those were his actual pronouns, but until he said otherwise that’s what he was. “It’s nice to meet you, Danny.”

“Nice to meet you too, Kon.”

Kon smiled and let the silence sit for a minute. So he finally had a name, though no family name. He wasn’t sure if one would help, but Tim insisted the more information they had the easier it would be to find where Danny was from and go help him, because anyone who was afraid of waking up, anyone who needed to run so badly he could only do it in his dreams absolutely needed help.

Now to just… find ways of getting that information out of Danny without scaring him off.

He watched for a bit as the sun touched the horizon, the sky changing colors and the golden light beginning to fade. Beside him Danny opened his eyes, the light no longer too bright to watch the show.

“I’ve missed this.”

Kon just nodded, unsure what to respond to a statement like that. Instead they sat in silence, enjoying the sunset until it became dark enough for the first stars to come out. Danny leaned back, slowly floating down until he was settled against the grass and staring up at the stars.

Kon joined him on the ground, staring up at the stars. “You like space, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Danny replied nonchalantly.

“You know which star is yours?”

“No.” He sounded sad as he said it.

Time for a distraction, “So I looked up Orion and I know the rest of the constellation now.” He pointed out the rest of the stars and what shape they made, then finally asked the next question. “What about your constellations?”

“What about them? I can’t show you, they’re not here.” Danny glared up at the sky as if he could move the stars around if he just thought at them hard enough.

“So draw them for me.” Kon pulled out a tablet from his jacket. He quickly turned it on and opened it to a simple art program. When he handed it over Danny stared down at the device with huge eyes.

“What’s this?”

“A tablet. It’s… it’s like a big phone, though it doesn’t have the call function like a phone does.”

“It’s a big phone without the actual phone?” Danny sounded confused, looking the whole thing over. “Where are the buttons?”

Kon laughed, then poked the screen. “Here, it’s touch screen.”

Danny’s face turned greenish, “Oh.”

“Guess our worlds have different tech.” 

Danny was already back to looking the device over, flipping it around and checking the thickness. “This is some real Star Trek shit.”

“Star Trek?”

Danny glanced over with another amused huff. “It's a show back home, really popular.”

Kon just nodded, something else to help them look, he guessed. He quickly ran through which buttons did what and helped Danny get started. Then he just sat and watched over Danny’s shoulder as he worked.

He started by filling the whole thing in black, then making a colorful smear across the canvas, then began putting white dots of various sizes all around. It was obvious he was very familiar with his own night sky, even going so far as to draw both hemispheres. He nudged a few of the stars this way and that, had to resize the canvas a few times to make room for everything, kept adding in more stars as he remembered them, and then did something Kon didn’t expect. Danny changed the color to a bright green and started writing.

While he wasn’t sure giving the names his planet called the stars would be helpful, a written script would really help narrow things down. Tim would eat this up!

“Oh, I guess names won’t help much,” Danny said after writing a few letters.

“Doesn’t stop me from being curious,” Kon said quickly.

Danny shrugged, “It doesn’t matter.” He handed the tablet back to Kon and went back to stargazing.

Kon quickly saved the picture, then sent it to Tim. Even a few letters or hieroglyphs or whatever would be helpful. Though… Kon squinted down at the start of the label for the Milky Way. It looked… kind of like the start of the word milk? Just loopy and the letters strung together? Odd. Probably just a coincidence, right? Pareidolia, he expects the word milk so he sees it.

So he tucked the tablet back away and starts pointing out other constellations. 

DP x DC Prompt/Plotbunny #6

After days? weeks? months? years? in this mercy-forsaken lab, Danny finds himself slipping; his core straining under the weight of what he's been subjected to. In a last ditch effort to save his fracturing soul, his brain simply stops processing the pain and allows his mind to escape into a waking dream.

Danny knows it's a dream. If he thinks about it; he can still hear, see, feel the scientists at work. He doesn't think about it; instead embraces whatever false world his mind decides to concoct for him.

.

Several states away, a young boy opens his eyes to the inside of a strange pod in an abandoned lab. Though he cannot see it yet, a strange metal tag dangles from his ear, stamped on one side with the word 'CADMUS' and on the other with 'R-13'.

[sturn777]

tough luck . | ( female reader ) wc 1.5k + ( masterlist ) ↻ ◁ previous II next ▷ ↺

TWO WEEKS HAD PASSED since the kiss, a whole two weeks. the kind of time that felt like an eternity when you were pretending to forget about it. but then, you were on vacation in the bahamas, spending most of your time lounging by the pool, sipping on piña coladas, and definitely not thinking about chris. after all, you were the one who had told yourself it didn’t matter, right? you were carefree. you were on vacation. who needed drama when the sun was out, and everything tasted like summer?

you shrugged it off like it was nothing. after all, he was just chris. what was a kiss if not just a moment? nothing more than an impulse, a fleeting thought.

when you returned home, you were greeted by the usual, a few texts from your friends, a couple of missed calls, and then the message that made you stop mid-sip of your iced coffee. chris was throwing a barbecue, and everyone was invited. everyone. you stared at the message for a second. was he serious? you hadn’t seen him in weeks, and now, out of nowhere, he was throwing a party.

but you were nothing if not unpredictable, so you shrugged and went with it. "let’s make an appearance," you said to your parents, who quickly agreed.

the minute you pulled up to chris’s house, the familiar buzz of expensive cars and noise filled the air. kids from the neighborhood, all dressed to impress, were scattered around the lawn. the smell of burgers and hot dogs wafted in the air.

you made your way inside with your parents, greeting a few of the neighbors along the way. everyone seemed to be having fun, laughing and chatting as if nothing was out of the ordinary, after all, nothing was.

then, you spotted him. chris was standing by the grill, talking to a few people. and for a second, you debated just turning around and walking right back out. you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

but you had already made your way over to him with your parents in tow. as soon as you stepped up beside him, he turned to face you. his expression was casual, like the kiss hadn’t happened at all.

“hi, mr. and mrs. y/l/n,” he said smoothly, offering a polite handshake to your parents before turning to you. “and you… hey.” his voice was cool, unaffected. no hint of the tension you had both shared. he was cold, as if nothing had ever happened. you stood there, feeling your heart drop, trying not to show how hurt you were. so this was how it was going to be, huh?

“hi, chris,” you said, forcing a smile. “it’s been a while.”

“yeah,” he replied nonchalantly. “been a busy couple weeks.” he tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer than necessary.

before you could react, a soft voice broke through. "hey babe!" you turned to see a girl standing next to chris, her arms wrapped around his waist, kate. she was effortlessly pretty. "hi, there." the girl said with a bright smile. "great to see you again, hun."

you were silent for a moment, taking in the scene before you. chris, with her. yet again. “hey, kate,” you said, forcing out a smile. you looked at chris again, his hand casually resting on her hip.

"this is my girlfriend," chris added, as if that should explain everything. his voice was polite, but there was something in the way he said it, as if the whole thing was a mere formality. like you didn’t matter, like you’d never meant anything.

and for a moment, you just stood there, feeling completely dumbfounded. all that time, all that drama, and here he was, acting like it meant nothing. like you didn’t mean anything.

but you smiled, putting on the mask you knew how to wear. “well, it’s always great seeing you, kate.” you turned back to chris. “hope you’re all enjoying yourselves.”

chris gave you a quick glance, his eyes unreadable. “yeah, we’re having a great time.” and with that, he walked away, his hand still firmly around kate’s waist as they rejoined the rest of the guests.

you stood there, trying not to feel like the air had been knocked out of you. but it had. and you knew right then — whatever this was, it wasn’t over. not by a long shot.

the evening stretched on, the laughter and chatter of the party echoing around you, but you found yourself unable to shake the feeling of being out of place. you’d avoided chris all night, sticking close to your parents and keeping conversations light with people you didn’t care about. it was easy to pretend everything was fine, even though it wasn’t.

you hadn’t expected it to sting this much, seeing him with kate, the way he was so natural with her, so comfortable. it was like you hadn’t mattered at all.

chris, for his part, didn’t seem to care much about your absence. he was busy chatting with his friends, the usual cocky grin on his face as he clinked bottles with some other guys. every now and then, he’d glance at his phone, and then he’d casually continue talking like it was just another day. asshole.

you stood at the edge of the crowd for a while, watching him, trying to calm the irritation that was bubbling up in your chest. eventually, you took a deep breath, told yourself to stop being childish, and walked over to him.

he was leaning against the kitchen counter, his phone in one hand as he spoke to a couple of his buddies. when he noticed you approaching, he gave you a glance but didn’t stop what he was doing. his eyes barely flickered over to you, the same indifferent expression on his face, as his friends took a hint and walked away.

“hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, even though there was a part of you that wanted to scream.

he glanced up, barely registering your presence. “hey.” his voice was casual, as if everything was just fine. “so... you’re dating kate now, huh?” you asked, trying to sound casual, like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t care.

chris’ eyebrows raised slightly, a little surprised by the question, but he didn’t hesitate. “yeah, we’ve been together for a couple weeks, give or take,” he said, giving you a shrug.

you nodded, your fingers curling into the edge of the counter. “didn’t realize you two were together... y’know, with the kiss and all,” you added, trying to sound indifferent, but you couldn’t hide the sting in your words.

he raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unfazed. “why, something wrong?” his tone was light, like he wasn’t even trying. you looked him dead in the eye. “no, not at all,” you replied. but your voice betrayed you, and you could hear the frustration in it.

chris took a deep breath, glancing down at his phone before locking it and slipping it into his pocket. “i’m sorry, did you, uh, call me once after the fact?” he asked, almost mockingly. “because for weeks, i didn’t hear from you. so forgive me for not waiting around 'till you came along.”

you froze, his words hitting harder than you expected. "what do you mean? you just moved on that quickly?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

chris exhaled sharply, his gaze drifting around the room before looking back at you. he said your name like it meant nothing, his eyes cold. “you didn’t seem too interested, did you? i mean, not even a text, not even a ‘hey, how’s it going?’”

you were taken aback by the tone in his voice. you hadn’t expected him to sound so… calm. almost like he’d been over it for a while, and you hadn’t been a part of it. “so, what? you just decided to make it official with kate?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, but it was shaking.

“yeah,” he replied, eyes steady on you. “because i’m not gonna waste my time waiting for someone who doesn’t even bother to reach out. no offense, but i’m not a fuckin' charity case.”

there was silence between you two for a moment, just the sound of laughter from the party filling the empty space. your chest tightened, and for the first time that night, you realized how much you had actually been hoping for something different. but it didn’t matter now.

you let out a breath, trying to collect yourself. “well, i guess this was a waste of my time,” you muttered under your breath, already regretting getting involved at all.

chris didn’t reply immediately, but his eyes softened for just a second. a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place, before he nodded. “yeah, well. i guess we both got what we wanted, huh?”

you didn’t answer him, instead turning on your heel and walking away. but the weight of his words stayed with you, lingering in the air like the smoke of an unresolved fight.

✉️ : calm luh angst, (peep the gilmore girls inspo!)

🏷 : ( @emely9274 ; @bluestriips ; @loveparqdise ; @st4rcs ; @starwebber9 ; @conspiracy-ash ; @sweetrelieef ; @chris-hallelujah ; @leoslaboratory ; @matttsangel ; @awnmaneez ; @heartss4clauu ; @mattsstarlet ; @madisturni ; @marrykisskilled ; @allmylovc ; @mattsdemi ; @sturnioloangell ; @ivyandthebeans ; @amelia-sturniolo3 ; @dominicfikeenthusiast ; @sophand4n4 ; @ch6rm ; @et6rnalsun; @sturniolossss ; @jetaimevous )

divider : @issysh3ll

[lifenconcepts]

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

Hm. Just the umbrella term I prefer but perhaps otherkin in the sense of being some strange conceptkin and Divinekin who calls themselves angelkin over being this sensation of life and fate and existence as a whole.. I’m like- life. Just life. Life-kin, can I just say I’m me? I’m everything. Aaaaughehejjd also wolf therian. Beat me over that but also sometimes caninekin and like .. feeling like dogs depending on whatever mood I’m in and copinglink of a borzoi 💯

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? sort of answered it in the above but I love lists. From highest relation to least (I vary quite often, and mostly am okay with being human except for a few rare instances and exceptions): Life and existence as a whole, wolf, a mutt/random canine, and.. some muskrat 😿 I love them but how the hell am I litterally a muskrat- OH AND I HAVE HUMAN PAST LIVES but I’m still confused over them. Like, some random guy with a car who loves the nighttime and was treated like shit, uhh.. about 80s/90s and in his 20s- maybe USA or UK, also USSR but not sure if it’s the same guy. Also a butler or someone of the sorts in another, just having a bunch of various strange jobs (or maybe it’s who I want to be.. idk I always struggle with knowing what’s my subconscious or what’s my soul)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Hm. Mostly mental shifts or something and the vague feeling of being a wolf but have had tail, ear, paw, and full body shifts. Also wings but they’re like random and in no way related to any identity.

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

Hm. I forget. Aha forgot- auh just being more understanding to those also like me and more connected to nature on an animalistic level and validating myself in my unusual-ness? Also sometimes craving the simple regressive state of being incoherent but understood, of being one with sensations and instincts but perceived by humans.. hehejdkjdhdhd

5/ What do you think of the community?

very nice! Also very sweet! Understanding of plenty, especially tumblr, but others may be more misinformed and rude elsewhere.. anyways just very sweet, good movement if I can call it that, it’s gained popularity definefely and for the better.

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

watching documentaries on canines, documentaries on ussr (don’t ask), forests and nature as an absolute whole (especially woodlands), and dog training videos. Fascinates me. Also being seen as a wolf. I used to go around telling people to call me Wolfy as a kid.

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

nope! Not really, and I find that great :)

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

trust your instinct and this vague feeling of feeling ‘right’ rather than any set of rules or expectations.

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

eueuhsgghhwcomplex question. Next! Aha kidding but like.. I want metal claws, and pretty metal gloves over my hand. Whatever that is. Hm perhaps also a wolf mask? Mm.. I don’t really like gear though, too ‘out there’ for me. I got a tail and paws and ears tho, but REALLY want wings— also kinda fucked up I don’t glow. Would drink glow sticks to glow- aha kidding.. unless-

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

mine specifically? .. evolved from thinking wolves are mad cool then seemingly wanting to be a werewolf then really thinking I could become one (with my varying degrees of wolfness and humanness) then finding splice with being seen as a canine or with one, and turned quickly to ‘yeah I’m a person but being a dog or wolf would be so damn cool’ and searching immensely on caves near me with the idea I would go exploring and find a genie and wish to be a shapeshifter and then live in the forest and convince others I was human then in the privacy of my own presence embrace my instincts and dreams of being a canine and now it’s just. Confusion mixed in with ‘was I faking it??’ feeling and some sense of ‘but i like being human’ even with that same nagging feeling of sometimes just needing to be a dog for a bit to feel content in my skin and maybe it’s something leftover with my soul’s past life that I’ve gotten over or now transformed from being a childhood dream to merely related to the emotional state of freedom and being understood even with my strange behaviours and appearance that likely had been formed through having a nagging sense of not being understood enough even with being genuinely spoilt but trying to convince myself that nobody cared so I could excuse myself if I ever turned to drugs but then just finding ways to love and understand myself and finally realising that I am loved but sometimes my thoughts just aren’t understood because others have different views and then vowing to do my best to understand others and especially folklore creatures even after I- oh, have I went off script a tiny bit? Im wolf enough.

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

oh I’m an addict for answering this, thank you so much for tagging me! But.. I don’t know who to tag.. anyone who sees this! Perhaps @canines-crown ??

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[natsuminmin]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆ TWIRLING WARMTH -> sae itoshi !!!

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ dancing with my phone by HYBS

synopsis; in which sae decides to unwind by using a tip you gave him cw: fluffy/crack fic , ldr , sae misses you , dancing , very ooc oh my god let me believe sae is secretly a massive lovefool , sae has a facetime auto answer feature (does that exist) , use of amor , gn! , unproofread + lowercase

"dancing, i'm all alone . figuring out how i can get you home"

living in his apartment without you was easy.

or so he thought.

he was currently sprawled across his bed, his arm stretched out automatically to make space for your warmth; which was unfortunately located a thousand miles away from madrid at this moment.

sae groaned, snatching his hand back immediately when he snapped out of his trance. how pathetic, he thought. he can't be caught wishing for cuddles like some lovesick fool, he should exercise more self-control than that!

naturally, he reached out for his phone to text you, like a normal person who doesn't yearn for his long-distance girlfriend would do:

[i miss you, amor.] 7:08 pm

[coming home soon, can't wait to see you.] 7:30 pm

yes, he really had impulsively booked a flight just to see you. yes, he was still definitely nonchalant. god, what have you turned him into?

it's only been an hour, but you still hadn't replied. he had to fight another dejected groan that threatened to erupt from his throat. but whatever. it was late in your place anyway, you were probably sleeping.

however, the fact that you would soon wake up to find his little suprise, calling him almost immediately, sent a little comfort to his sore bones. he really wanted to hear your voice.

ugh, seriously. what was in the air today?

frustrated, he exited the chat box and scrolled through his playlists. he reached a certain one that you and he made the last time he was with you.

he decided to listen to the music in there instead, that always relaxed him.

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

"sae, when are you coming home?"

your pretty voice came out warped from the speaker. he scoffed silently, the phone could never catch your beauty properly.

"sae."

"huh, what?" "i said, when are you coming home?"

"never. don't want to." "not even for me?" "especially not for you."

"ouch, sae."

he chuckled softly under his breath, the sun filtering through his room and in turn illuminating his eyes. you had ample time to observe his face which, thankfully, wasn't pixelated.

"you okay?"

"of course. why wouldn't i be?" you rolled your eyes. well, duh, he'd deny everything. your boyfriend was capable of many things. admitting he needed to cool off was not one of them apparently.

you hummed for a moment, thinking off into space as you watched sae rummage around for a blanket. then it clicked.

a sneaky grin spread across your face, oh yeah, he'll like this idea.

you set down your phone on the table, adjusting the camera so it showed your full body. then you grabbed your laptop and started playing music. was that.....pitbull???? mr worldwide???

sae watched you with disbelief. this was rare. he was never caught speechless. he blinked slowly as his eyebrows creased ever so slightly.

"what are you doing?"

"im dancing, sae. you should join me, it'll help you relax, you know?"

he saw you swaying side to side, twirling, bobbing around your head to the beat of the song, all with the biggest and goofiest smirk on your face. he scoffed, shaking his head at your antics. there was no way he was going to dance. ever.

"you look stupid. i'm ending the call right now."

"wait, no!"

─── ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ───

a smile tugged on the corner of his mouth as he recalled that memory. he wasn't much of a sentimental person, but he can make exceptions sometimes.

he just....stared at the phone for a few moments, gaping at the turning disc on the screen as he hummed absent-mindedly.

fine. he'll try dancing once. he'll see if it lived up to the hype.

he disconnected his headphones and raised the volume to max as he stood up from his bed. he scrolled through the playlist again, settling on his favorite. he felt awkward, so he tried to tap his foot to the beat.

hey, this was actually really fun.

soon, small taps of his foot moved to infect his shoulders. pretty much once the song ended, he was full on dancing. just as you had shown him to do. even that stupid twirl-hand wave (?) thing you did. he couldn't even explain it, but it was entertaining to do. he'll never tell you that you were right.

but unfortunately for him, you saw him already. he had left his laptop open, whose camera was perfectly facing straight ahead on his being.

you never wanted this to stop. you were having a blast. finally seeing your boyfriend have fun in what......months now? what a blessing. and so you remained silent, captivated by the incredibly awkward but endearing dance moves. stifling your laughs took so much of your restraint though.

sae should really turn off the auto-answer feature.

"dancing with my phone, thinking about you"

a/n: this came to me in a dream and is dedicated to my dearest sae luvr ILY ELO also the song he was dancing to was suisei - tofubeats (kariya seira) which according to the wiki is his fave IT IS SUCH A BOP BTW I LUV IT can uu tell i got lazy at the end hekp

[anakinstwinklebunny]

sam, vinnie and reader going to a butterfly exhibit

SAM MONROE walked through the entrance, his hand securely wrapped around Vinnie's little, pudgy one, the little boy wobbling on his little sneakers, eyes wide and filled with this childish wonder. You, on the other hand, tried to understand the camera you had picked up for this moment, so later you could print them out to family's album

"you comin'?" Sam turned to look at you, free hand tucked in his pocket

"yeah, yeah..just having a hard time with this thing. Thought I understood the manual"

Sam's lips twisted into a small smirk, before his gaze fell to the toddler "Watch it, Little Dude," Sam muttered, scooping Vinnie up when the kid almost tripped over his own feet. "Keep up."

Vinnie babbled in response, chubby hands stretching toward a butterfly that danced out of reach. One arm wrapped around sam's neck while his mouth formed an adorable “wooow,” pudgy fingers grasping for the colorful creature that flew just beyond his too tiny reach.

"Yeah, I know, buddy. Pretty cool, huh?" Sam chuckled under his breath, shifting Vinnie in his arms as they walked. "You can’t catch 'em, they’re fast little fuckers."

You shot him a glare that had Sam clear his throat and mumble something about actually meaning to say "flies"

You smiled at the sight of them, snapping a quick photo of Vinnie's contagious excitement, and Sam, despite his usual gruffness, looked softer with him--like a completely different person.

After a while, you stopped and sat by the bench, admiring the butterflies that surrounded you. They landed on flowers, people, just on everything while their delicate wings shimmered in the soft light. One butterfly, a gorgeous shade of blue, fluttered down and gently perched on your finger. You gasped in awe, holding your finger still as the butterfly rested on it.

"Sam," you called softly, catching his attention as he was busy giving Vinnie crackers and making him giggle. "Look."

He turned, raising an eyebrow as he followed your gaze to the butterfly on your finger. You smiled, feeling the soft brush of its wings as it fluttered gently. Vinnie, still munching on his crackers, suddenly stopped mid-bite, eyes going wide when he noticed the beautiful butterfly.

"Look, Vinnie," you cooed, calling him over. "You see that?"

he slowly shuffled toward you, little hand still clutching his half-eaten cracker. He gasped, voice barely a whisper. "Buh-fly!"

Vinnie made a grabby motion, little hands stretching out towards the butterfly on your finger. You giggled, letting him reach as the butterfly took off, flying away into the air. Vinnie let out a small gasp of surprise, little face scrunching up.

"Aw, did it fly away?" you asked, teasing him gently.

Vinnie babbled something in response, little mouth covered in cracker crumbs as he reached out again, determined. "Buh-fly!" voice firm and full of focus.

Sam just shook his head, turning back to Vinnie, his protective instincts kicking back before he scooped up the boy. “Alright, dude,” he said, standing up from the bench “Let’s go find a butterfly you can actually catch.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[cigarettessmokeandberries]

Softened (Sevika x reader)

She nearly always came to you after beaten up, but you didn't want it any other way. A short comfort fic for Sevika.

Warnings: beaten up Sevika, wound care (nothing graphic or major)

a/n: just another comfort fic for Sevika :) apologies for any OOC or spelling issues.

————————————————————————

It wasn’t hard to love her. Headstrong, brilliant, beautiful Sevika. She was a star in the shiny life of the undercity. No black eyes, gashes, or pain could stop her from fighting for the place she cares so deeply about.

It hadn’t been a surprise when she showed up at your doorstep, hand holding tight onto her ribs as she limped into the now open door. Your door would always remain open for the enigma that was Sevika.

“Again.” It was more of an observation than anything else, she smirked. You never asked questions, for you feared the details.

Your soft hands sat her on your sofa, her plopping easily into it.

She let out a relieved sigh to be off her sore feet. She had been working none-stop the past few days, some bruises already stained her skin, blackened and blue.

She winced as your hand brushed some hair out of her face, not out of pain but rather small confusion. She never understand your care for her, she didn’t understand your will to her wellbeing, but she appreciated it none the less.

“nothin’ to worry your pretty little head over.” She replied, stubborn as ever.

You eyes rolled as you collected the first aid kit and took a seat on the coffee table in front of her.

“My pretty little head is always worried about you,’ you mumbled against the quiet night air. The silence strand on as you took some cream and smoothed it over the cuts littering her face.

She hummed against the coolness, closing her eyes.

“Just some cleanup.” She clarified, her voice deep in the moment.

Her eyebrows twitched against the bandage pressing against the now soothed skin. She was always a little more sensitive on the nights she came to you. A gift you received with a glittering smile. This place was not for someone like you, she always thought. You were a glimmering soul in a place that distinguished such. But, she wouldn’t look this horse in the mouth.

“Thanks, and all that, y’know,’ Her words clogged her throat coming out, almost a pleading for something. You couldn’t pretend to know what she was thinking in moments like these. Maybe how annoying you became when it came to her health or maybe a thought passing through of confusion about your generosity when it came to tending to her. She never once questioned your love for her. She just never understood it, but the world down here didn’t give much understanding.

“Yeah, of course, or whatever,” You met her reply with a smile gracing your lips that lifted the curve of your cheeks a little higher.

You placed a gentle kiss against the bandage adorning her forehead, another soft sigh leaving her at that. She was not a gentle person in the slightest, but you could swear you might be the exception. And, you might be (you were).

The rough kiss that came after was of her doing. Her lips crashed against yours in a mix of fury and desperation as she poured all she could into it. She was grateful, but words always escaped her.

You met her lips with the same fury, opening your mouth when her tongue darted out and you met it with vigor.

Her hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer. She guided you into her lap and twitched a bit when you weight pressed against her bruised ribs, but she would never deny you and that was a thought that surprised her in the moment. Her kisses turned more into quick, chaste, pecks as she rushed to give you what she could.

“Mmh,” you hummed as you pulled away and her hands slide up under your shirt, a shiver running down your spine and rushing to your core. You felt her against you and nothing was better. Her calloused hands rubbed up your sides, chilly but still welcome.

She never seemed to warm, even when pressed up to you. Her tongue darted out one last time for one last deep kiss before she pulled away.

Her eyes shone in the lamplight, a little lighter.

You picked yourself up from her lap, a small smile still on your lips as you moved to the kitchen to pour a glass of whiskey. Her lips quirked into a smirk as she took the glass and hummed into the rim as the poison entered her mouth.

You sat down beside her as she nursed her drink, swirling the golden liquid in the small glass. You admired her from the side, her nose bridge sticking out smooth and right and the strength of her jaw sharp. Her jaw clenched against the liquid as her flesh hand moved to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close.

This might not last forever but it felt like forever in a moment. A soft air surrounded you both as the impact of the sound outside faded out. Just you and Sevika. Just you two. Just right.

[tsukuhoe]

17. make me juno cw: smut, p in v sex

utahime’s voice rang out, sharp and clear. “and… cut! that’s a wrap for today, everyone. great work!” 

the film crew burst into scattered applause, and you stepped off the set, running your hand through your slightly dishevelled hair. 

“you did amazing, sweets,” gojo said as he passed. he offered you a tired but genuine smile. “hope i didn’t spook you when i picked you up earlier,” 

“oh heavens no, gojo! i didn’t mind it in the slightest! like seriously, throwing me over your shoulders? you’re really strong.” 

“yeah, ‘m the strongest!” you giggled in response. “so, sweets, would you like to get dinner together tonight? haven’t hung out with you since we watched scream together— kinda miss you.” he gave you a small pout and tucked a strand of your dishevelled hair behind your ear. 

“i’d love to gojo, but! i have dinner plans tonight… maybe next time?” dinner plans. he stiffened. who rejects the satoru gojo for dinner plans? no, the bigger question was who exactly do you have plans with?  “yeah..! that’s fine with me, sweets.” he smiled weakly then walked off. 

as you exited the lobby, your eyes scanned the small crowd milling around the entrance. then you saw him— nanami, waiting for you, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. you smiled, quickening her pace. “kento, hi! sorry, did you wait long?” 

nanami looked over and shot you a soft smile. “no, not at all. i just finished up my photoshoot.” 

you two started walking together to his car— a volvo s90. the sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. he opened the passenger door for you as you slid into the seat, the soft leather cool against your skin. you rolled her eyes playfully but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. “a gentleman, huh?” he chuckled at your comment. 

nanami closed the door with care and rounded the car to the driver’s side. moments later, he was in the seat beside you, adjusting the music to a mellow playlist as he started the car. the drive was smooth, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold as they passed. conversation flowed effortlessly between you two—small talk, laughter. 

twenty minutes later, he turned down a quiet road that led to a fancy townhouse neighbourhood. as he stepped out, you reached for the door handle, but before you could open it, he was there, pulling it open for you.

“still playing the gentleman, i see,” you said, stepping out.

“of course,” the blonde replied, offering his hand. you took it, feeling a pleasant flutter in your chest as your fingers brushed. 

“this is incredible, kento,” you said, twirling a forkful of spaghetti. he smiled, twirling his own fork. “i could send you the recipe if you’d like.” 

as you two ate, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine in your glasses. They talked about work, your mutual friends (shoko, utahime, gojo), and travel dreams. every so often, laughter would fill the room, blending with the crackle of the candle. 

“so, what did you want to discuss? you sounded pretty serious over text…” you asked, finishing up your plate of spaghetti. 

“well,” he said slowly, ​​running a hand through his hair, his laugh awkward. “it’s just— something’s been on my mind for a while. and i figured, you know, it’s something you should be aware of…” 

you tilted your head. “okay… now you’re scaring me. spit it out.”

he took a deep breath, his gaze meeting yours. “we attended high school together. at tokyo jujutsu high.” 

“oh! really? no wonder why your name sounded so familiar… you were friends with haibara, right? i remember seeing you a few times in the halls waiting for him after math?” 

he nodded. “yes. um… do you remember that party senior year? at mei mei’s place?” 

you blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. “uh… vaguely? why?”

nanami hesitated again, then decided to just rip off the band-aid. “we hooked up that night.” 

the words hung in the air like an unexpected gust of wind, making you blink again, harder this time.

“what?” you said, leaning back as if to process his statement better.

“we… had a one-night stand,” he said, his voice softer now. “you’d had a few drinks, i’d had a few drinks, and… yeah. it happened.” 

you stared at him, her mind racing. “no way… that was you?!”

“yes, it was,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “you didn’t bring it up the next day. i figured you didn’t want to talk about it so i just… didn’t say anything.”

“kento!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing. “are you serious right now?”

“completely,” he said, his expression equal parts apologetic and nervous. “i’m not telling you this to make it weird or anything. i realized that when we met, you didn’t seem to know who i was. it felt wrong if you weren’t aware of who you had sex with…”  

you let out a long breath, your mind replaying snippets of that party. the memory was blurry, but there were flashes— nanami laughing with you in the kitchen, you two of them sitting too close in mei mei’s guest bedroom, a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen. 

“oh my god—” you finally said, covering your face with your hands. for a moment, you two sat in silence, the weight of the revelation settling in you. then, to his surprise, you started giggling. “kento, do you know how desperate i’ve been to find you?”

“pardon?” he asked, as confusion settled in him. 

you shook your head, still laughing. “i just… i can’t believe that i lost my v-card to the kento nanami! i’ve been thinking about that party ever since it happened!”

nanami smiled, relieved that she wasn’t angry, however concern showing on his face.  “you… you lost your virginity to me? i am so terribly sorry… is there something i could do to make it up to you?” 

“don’t be. if anything, it honestly best fuck of my life.” 

“fair enough.” he laughed, the tension finally breaking. 

​​you took another sip of wine, your eyes glinting with mischief. “but, if you really would like to make it up to me, i don’t mind recreating what we did that night.”

as you straddled nanami’s lap on the couch, the soft cushions enveloped them, making it feel like they were in their little world. his eyes locked onto yours, the desire in them making your heart skip a beat.

you settled into his lap, your legs wrapping around his hips as you began to move. his hands rose, gripping your hips as he guided you, his fingers digging into your skin. 

the couch creaked softly as you two moved, the sound mingling with your ragged breathing. you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "i want you."

"fuck, you feel incredible, darling," he groaned, his voice strained. his hands tightened on your hips as he pulled you down harder. you began to ride him faster, your hips moving in a circular motion as you chased the pleasure. your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to go deeper. "ah—! harder, please. ‘fuh me like you did back then."

nanami began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you matched his pace. the couch creaked with the frantic movements, the sound only adding to the erotic atmosphere. plap plap plap! 

"you feel so fucking good, love," nanami grunted, his eyes locked with yours. "'m not going to last long."

"i–i don't want you to," you panted, your face flushed with arousal. “wanna feel you c–cum inside— ah!— j’us like before."

his thrusts became more urgent— plap plap plap! his body on the brink of release. your cunt clenched around him, milking his cock as you neared your climax. your moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure. 

"shit– ‘m gonna fill you up, yeah?" nanami panted out, his body tensing as he emptied himself deep within you.

“ahh— you so so s’gooddd, kento!” you cried out, her nails scratching his back as you rode the waves of pleasure, your cunt pulsating around his pulsing thick cock. 

as your hearts slowed and your breathing returned to normal, you two remained entangled on the couch, your bodies glistening with sweat. nanami kissed your forehead, his hand stroking your hair.

"that was..." you began, searching for words. "just like i remembered…” 

“oh, darling, we’re just getting started.” he chuckled, his voice soft, picking you up and carrying you to his bedroom. 

album bonus tracks: — that was my first time writing smut, I AM SO SORRY IF IT WAS ASS — i love kento nanami — next chapter out next week, i won't be updating during the weekdays for a bit ⋮ MASTERLIST  ֹ⋮  PREVIOUS  ⋮  ֹNEXT  ⋮

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[moominmanoneandonly]

I present to you my favorite love piramid!

The three genders: Malewife, Furry and Gaslight

Like, you do not realize how insane this shit is. The green guy/Sakuya is probably like the most brain changing character to me couse like..

What do you mean you can brainwash an entire school district? What do you mean you can be remebered as a school klown and a social butterfly by everybody just like that

What do you mean you saw a guy once, trought he's cool(pretty gay btw) and make him believe you are his childhood best friend and that you bonded over lost parents and that you are his everything?!!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE A SHRINE OF THAT GUY, AND ARE A CONFIRMED YANDERE

What do you mean your backstory is having your older sister pushed from the balcony by your parents for insurance money and then them doing the same to you?!

What do you mean you stuck in the war between your found family who slowly going insane and the love of your life?!

Like sakuya is such an insane character, he should be on some power scaling list for sure. And the fact that Mahiru still wanted to have him as a friend after all that is amazing.

HOW ARE THEY NOT CANON?!!

+ kuromahi of course since they are the main characters

They got that old married couple dynamic perfected and get to trauma bond half of the time.

Just three biches who would rather die than deal with their problems. They deserve each other

The fact that this manga is under "horror" is the biggest 4ss pull I ever seen. Just an avarage gay person experience. You never had a sin of Sloth sleep in your house and had to handle his family drama while your worldview entirely colapses, you start to question morality of imortality, some deppresed dude tries to become an only child and your best friend turns out to be a creep? Clearly you're not gay enough.

[temerity14]

I've actually been wanting an excuse to talk about this lol, thank you for the tag :D

'Temerity' is the name of my second DnD character, and the name of the first OC that I put my heart and soul into. We're talking weeks sat down writing stories (as an undiagnosed ADHD eleven year old that was equivalent to black magic). Then add another two year of daydreaming when class got boring and as a coping mechanism for high school and you've got yourself a scarily fleshed out character.

And at this point I hadn't even played a game with her yet.

Temerity is still the character I use in an ongoing campaign and I love her dearly, she is very close to my heart. Got me through high school and kept my imagination going when it could have very easily turned off with the rest of my emotions (dissociation sucks man).

And 14?

... Idk I needed a number for one of the accounts I was setting up and I just like it cause it sounds pretty.

@tategaminu @badgebadge314 @pseudocyance I think I've figured yours out already but you've got a cool username and deserve a chance to talk about it @chaoticgoodthiefling @bluetbluish @secretly-a-catamount @konmaao3 @hiccupshypotheticalleftsock and any of my other moots yay

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well