#been trying to think of a way for it to fit him but that would require Darlin��� to be cheating on him and i don’t like that thought

[yanderenightmare]

Okkotsu Yuuta

♡ TW: noncon, yandere, kidnapping, bondage, bully reader 

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the major power trip Yuuta went through once he figured out how to control his cursed energy. 

Here’s this loser who’s been bullied all throughout life for being such a loner, who suddenly gains unlimited and unsupervised power to do whatever he wants. And he’s never once stood up for himself out of fear that Rika would take it too far—but he’s fully in control now and free to do all those things he’s been too scared to do before.

You used to be one of those bullies back in the day—one of those pretty girls who would laugh and sneer at him while other goons would do their worst of swirlies and wedgies and gut punches. He hasn’t seen you in years already, but there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought about you. Old, twisted emotions of hatred and want brewing in the darkest pits of his gut. He can still remember that evil look of glee in your eyes each time you’d say or do something horrid.

He wonders if he has that same awful look in his eyes now as he stands over you—terrified, lying in his bed with your hands and feet tied.

He doesn’t even remember how he got you there. He must have blacked out completely, and yet, the knots of rope are tied so neatly he must have known what he was doing.

You’re in what you wore to bed—a pair of panties and a little crop top. He’s actually never seen a girl so bare before—only two flimsy articles away from being naked. It makes him blush—big and dour-eyed, scanning every curve of your smooth skin, feeling his throat get tight.

Your mouth’s taped shut—he isn’t interested in anything you’d have to say. But he’s left your eyes. He can’t tell if you recognize him. But the fear within them makes him feel so good he’s never been harder in his entire life.

Still, he doesn’t know if he can go through with it. It’s a strange feeling—how your shivering and tears make him feel both ashamed and yet so very horny he might cum in his pants just from looking at you. 

He thinks of the you from back then—what an absolute bitch you were—all your mean words and hard glares, ugly comments whispered in your friend’s ear while looking down on him, giggling behind a hand as if it were some big secret you were talking shit—as if you hadn’t just poured rotten milk over his head in front of everyone.

Yeah… you deserve this.

You try worming away from him once he crawls on top of you, but the way he’s tied you makes it a pointless struggle. It should make him feel worse, but oddly enough, it just makes him want to touch you more. Your skin is so soft it gives him chills, manhandling you just the way he sees fit. 

It seems crazy to him that something with teeth as sharp as yours can also look like the sweetest thing in the world. To anyone else, he must look like the bad guy. But he knows, and you know—you’re no victim.

With your hands tucked under your back, you’re completely pinned beneath him as he straddles your legs. You whine, but he pays you no mind—carefully lifting your top up further.

His body sags with a sigh at the sight. They’re even more perfect than he’d dreamed, and they feel even better in his hands—soft and squeezable.

It’s so fucked up—you have the ugliest personality he knows, and yet you're just as pretty as he remembers. He hates you, and yet you’re the only one he wants this way.

He bends down and wraps his mouth around your nipple—it’s perky and warm and makes him groan with a shudder—rocking his clothed bulge against your thigh with a string of moans.

He can’t believe your pussy is just a thin little layer of cotton away—waiting for him just beneath a pink print of cartoon bunnies. He doesn't know why, but he really likes that more than the black lace he’d expected. 

Suppose it makes you fit the role more—his prey.

Just knowing he’s going to fuck you makes him feel like the most powerful guy in the world. He wants to make you cum until you can’t even remember your own name.  He wonders if you’re a virgin, too, but he doubts it.

“I’ve seen you had so many tongues down your throat, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve had dick just as much.”

But that’s okay. He’s going to make sure this time is special. 

His body drapes yours with all its weight as endless thoughts of what he’s going to do to you flood his head. He moans, making drool spill over your chest where his mouth covets your breast while he keeps rutting into you—he’ll make you feel so good you fall in love with him.

And it’s sad how the thought alone instantly makes his boxers fill with stickiness.

And it’s only sadder as the post-nut-clarity hits because he’s left with a heavy feeling of grief for not having filled your womb instead. 

♡ OKKOTSU YUTA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[lucinedoodles]

Xiu Ying "de Riva" x Lucanis Dellamorte

Quick background on Xiu Ying- she's an OC I use for video games and is basically a foreigner in the land of Thedas, banished there for abusing her powers as a minor deity in her own world. She is a fox spirit and before the events of Inquisition, she saved a few Dalish children from a demon. In doing so, she used up too much magical/life energy and ended up reverting back into the form of a baby fox. A baby fox is how she stayed throughout the events of the Inquisition, chilling out in Inquisitor Lavellan's pocket.

Xiu Ying realised she was falling in love when Lucanis described a first kiss as honey and lavender cream- the same drink her Dalish clan used the feed her when she was a very young fox kit.

It may have been love at first sight for Lucanis. Let's face it, the man has been imprisoned for a year and Rook was the first friendly face he saw AND she was busting him out of there? But he was wary of her and her intentions since she's a famous Courtesan who has a history of charming important people.

The whole Lighthouse been knew. They were taking bets and Davrin was getting pretty sick of the will they, won't they. They get together officially after Caterina was saved.

Sort of? She's not really an Antivan Crow. She was a useful agent for them and Viago handed her the emergency adoption papers after an incident where the Antivan King was offended when she spurned his advances. She may or may not have orchestrated that incident, knowing Viago would step in to help her. Xiu Ying likes the Crows as individuals but isn't very impressed by them as a faction. Too much backstabbing and idealism with the way they gloss over the horrific nature of their training and lifestyle.

Xiu Ying pretends to be Dalish, she takes on the appearance of a Dalish elf and observes their practices when convenient. She's a social chameleon and will do whatever it takes to fit in. She does teach Lucanis some of the recipes she remembers from Clan Lavellan though.

She's admitted to him that when she's around someone, she will always become the kind of person they would like. She no longer knows who she is when she takes the mask off. So Lucanis starts helping her find her own interest again, teaching her to cook and joining Bellara's book club and etc.

For a courtesan, Xiu Ying is surprisingly chaste with her affections. A kiss on the cheek and maybe holding his hand when they're out in public. In private, she's always careful to make sure Lucanis is comfortable with whatever happens.

A romantic dinner for two (and Spite), with candles and peonies, ending with a warm cup of cream with honey and lavender for her and a cup of coffee for him.

Xiu Ying doesn't take Lucanis any more than the others. Mostly because, she likes coming back to the Lighthouse and making a beeline for the kitchen for a freshly made snack. She's also as free flowing with praise for Lucanis in battle as he is for her.

He calls her "my love" and she calls him "vhenan" (illario calls her "cara" but we don't talk about him)

Getting either of them to say it is like pulling teeth but Xiu Ying blurts it out after she was pulled out of the Regret Prison.

So many. Mostly directed at Illario and Viago.

Honestly can't think of any atm lol

She got him a miniature wyvern. She had an Orlesian client who was trying to breed mini wyverns as pets and he may have lost a leg and an eye, but he did it.

Panic and fear. One moment they were victorious and the next, Rook is gone and no one can find her. She's in the Fade and may never be seen again.

Mildly annoyed. She's confident she can find her way out but she already hated Solas for dating and then dumping her adoptive sister. She would have been more stressed had she known how much time was passing in the real world.

The fact that despite everything that has happened to him, Lucanis is still capable of caring and looking after those around him. He loves her because of how much she cares for those around her and how fiercely she's willing to protect them. She waged war against Solas to protect her adoptive sister, she nearly ripped Ghilan'nain apart for attacking Harding and she tore through Blight and Death when she saw Bellara was still alive.

They visit Clan Lavellan, secretly elope while they're there and write to Viago and Teia that they're not coming back to Antiva before fuckin off to go watch wild wyverns.

Questions for your Rook and their partner:

Does your Rook fall for their partner at first sight? If not, what moment made your Rook realize they're in love with them?

When does the partner realize that they're in love with Rook?

How long does it take for them to officially get together? Did any of the other Lighthouse members have any suspicions beforehand?

Do your Rook and their partner share the same faction? If so, does that affect their relationship at all? If not, what is your Rook's opinion of their partner's faction? What is the partner's opinion of Rook's faction?

Do they have different cultural backgrounds (e.g. a Rook who was raised in Antiva with Harding who was raised in Ferelden)? If so, do they ever share parts of their culture with each other? If they're similar, how do they celebrate their culture together?

What is their favorite thing to do together? Do they share any hobbies? Does your Rook teach their partner their own hobbies? Does the partner teach Rook theirs?

Are they a physically affectionate couple? Are they fine displaying those affections in public or do they prefer to be in private? If they're not, how do they prefer to show their love instead?

What does their ideal date look like? Do they go on much?

Does your Rook bring them out often? How are they like on the battlefield? Do they banter much?

Do they have any nicknames for each other? Who uses terms of endearment more?

Who says "I love you" first? What is the other's reaction? Who thinks it first?

Any inside jokes?

What song(s) do you associate with them?

Does your Rook get their partner any other gifts (besides the one already in-game)? Does the partner get Rook any? Any gifts that are particularly special?

What was the partner's reaction to Rook being imprisoned in the Fade? How did they cope? How did they react upon seeing Rook again?

How did your Rook react to getting trapped in the Fade and separated from their partner?

What is your Rook's favorite thing about their partner? What is the partner's favorite thing about Rook?

When all is said and done, where would they like to retire together? Is marriage in the cards for them? Children? Pets?

[mishellii]

petnames headcanons .ᐟ.ᐟ

modernworld!attack on titan x fem!reader

including: eren, armin, levi, hange, erwin, jean, mikasa, connie & sasha

warnings: NSFW! minors do not interact; not proofread,,, as always, pretty self indulgent oops

likes & reblogs appreciated<3

masterlist

𐙚EREN.

★i have this fb image about him in my head that i just can't get rid of

★...... babygirl

★but hear me out

★most of the times when he has NO idea what you're on about or he's trying to tease u

★uses it mostly while texting tho!

★"that's literally insane bbg"

★he's so UGHH

★always greets u with babe

★he'd definitely use ur name as well but he loves loves petnames

★sugar, pretty girl, u name it

★thinks they're so cute

★when ur asking something of him or like giving him shit he'd hit u with a

★"sure, ma"

★and idk about u but that's kinda hot

NSFW.

★so so basic but he loves calling you baby during sex, even though he calls u that all the time

★i think he'd use such teasing words and soft n sweet petnames just fit so well with that

★"oh, now you're listening, baby?"

★"c'mon, pretty, you were all mouthy earlier, tell me."

★says ur name only when he cums :)

★and the usual good girl when ur finished

★c'mon we been knew

──────────୨ৎ───────────

𐙚ARMIN.

★love

★LOVE

★just love man he's so so loving in his words he wouldn't ever call you anything degrading

★"sure, angel, i'll get right to it."

★but most likely when texting??

★perhaps he's too shy to call u anything but your name in public but he's trying i promise

★also the type to call u something only the both of you would know the reason behind; something no one else would know why he'd call u that

NSFW.

★oh my sweet boy

★i am a sub armin believer, but more on the switchy side so he could definitely dom if he feels confident enough in the relationship

★"please, angel, let me cum"

★with that subtle manipulative tone barely noticeable because of his oh so gentle words

★"i know, darling, just a bit more, please?"

★also loveeees moaning your name and hearing YOU say his name cuz he feels more connected this way

★,,,sighs dreamily

𐙚LEVI.

★this little bloke

★refuses to call u anything but ur name in public like,,,, if there's other people, he's using your name there's no way around it

★except for the infamous brat of course (i'm bumping that)

★,,i'm not telling you again, brat."

★in the comfort of ur living space, where it's just the two of you, he might throw in something cute if he's in a particularly soft mood

★"Already did the dishes, love, go lay down."

★pretty confident when he's texting tho, but simply cuz the words sound too foreign coming out of his mouth

★"Sure, Sweetheart. See you at home."

NSFW.

★dom levi defender for life u can haunt me down idc i stand by this

★once he feels comfortable and secure enough in ur relationship, certain you won't run off, he'd definitely lose the no-feelings-attitude and become more playful and daring

★"hands above your head, doll, i'm not telling you again."

★he can be pretty mean and unfair ,,,

★just.... u need to give him what he wants before he gives u what you want u feel me

★"beg"

★-"please."

★"like a good girl."

★not opposed to throwing in the brat again if ur pissing him off

★i'd gladly piss him off

★gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn

𐙚HANGE.

★AAAAA A A A AAAAAAA

★"darling, i'm almost done."

★i would go to war for hange pls someone hold my hand

★now i think they're not entirely intrigued by pet names but some do slip out when they're feeling soft or they're in a silly mood

★once hange stalked the internet for too long and found "the cuppycake song" and started calling u stuff like my snoogums boogums or hunny bunch to get on ur nerves

★when noticing you're down or not in the best mood they use comforting ones tho

★"you okay, dear?"

★texts usually with the basic babe cuz they think it's short and still comes across as endearing, right?

NSFW.

★ugh

★"legs spread, sweet thing."

★ hange's a switch me thinks but with a preference for dominating??? idk why i'm even talking about this but y'all need to get the idea

★"did i tell you to move, pretty girl?"

★ugh pt.2

★when feeling subby they'd mostly use ur name tho ??

★or a teasing "yes, ma'am" to get u even more worked up (if u weren't already)

𐙚ERWIN.

★mr.smith my god

★he's so sweetheart coded fuck off

★and always puts "my" infront of pet names to insure people know u belong together

★doesn't matter if ur married or not

★"i'm just finishing up work, my love."

★if he talks with someone else about you it'd be either "my lady" or "my wife"

★he's oh so respectful when he talks about u i'm going insane

★texting would be the same tbh

NSFW.

★ahem

★"there you go, sweet girl. that's it."

★HE'S JUST SO-

★like he loves ur name too don't get me wrong but once he knows how much u love hearing him say those things it'll be hard to get him to stop

★"let me hear you, angel."

★makes u feel so much with his words and soft voice i hate it here

★erwin smith the man u are

𐙚JEAN.

★"hey, good lookin', how's it going?"

★doesn't reaaalllyyy call u much aside from babe in public, cuz he's a bit more private about showing his love

★not afraid to step up and make it known you're with him tho

★"yeah, my girl's not interested, thank you."

★during texting too like

★almost same as armin in personal pet names like,,,, idk

★u got an embarrassing haircut ONCE he's not letting it go

★"sure, bowl cut, i'll be there soon."

★i mean it's endearing come oooonn

NSFW.

★"you're so good to me, beautiful."

★i'm almost convinced he's all about praising words and names in bed (can u tell i don't like degradation oops)

★making u feel so good about urself cuz that's exactly what he wants

★also something along the lines of

★"go on, pretty thing, i got you."

★such a charmer

★i want 14 of him rn

𐙚MIKASA.

★step back ladies, i got this 🫷🏼😌🫸🏼

★in all seriousness, mommikasa's pretty light on the petnames imo

★she's a softy at heart tho, so she'll definitely call u sumn along the lines of love or sweets

★mostly in the comfort of ur 4 walls tho !!

★such huge emphasis on my GIRLFRIEND when introducing you to someone or talking about u

★wants the people to KNOW you're hers.

★she don't play about u

NSFW.

★lord have mercy

★pretty pretty girl is a force to be reckoned with

★"yeah, gorgeous, you like that?" in her soft voice with that devilish undertone

★settling for the basic baby most of the time tho, cuz it rolls off her tongue so easily when she's with u

★if you're being good, she'll let you know with sumn like "that's my girl." or "you're my pretty girl, yes?"

★again

★BIG👏🏻EMPHASIS👏🏻on the "my" part

𐙚CONNIE.

★this douche is all in always everywhere

★literally only calls u shit because he loves messing with u

★it's his form of affection i promise

★"ey, smelly, come here."

★genuinely, he's so weird

★"pookie, i didn't mean it."

★when ur pissed at something he said

★but he CAN be sweet obviously but only ever with calling you baby

★he's one of the girls when he's texting you like

★"omg bestie tell me"

★or

★"dpwm girl"

★he's so dry but uses memes to even it out

★i adore him actually

NSFW.

★"i told you, beautiful, no touching."

★he's actually really sweet during sex i promise he's not always a dick

★he DOES love u and he's not afraid to show/tell u with touching u in the right places AND with his words

★"keep going, ma."

★also baby baby baby so much baby UGH

★constance springer in my bed this instant

𐙚SASHA.

★mrs.potato girl def calls u anything and i mean anything related to the thing she loves most

★food.

★sugar, pumpkin or cupcake

★she loves food and she loves you so how could she not :(

★i fear sasha forgets ur name sometimes cuz it's so natural for her to call u sweet nicknames instead

★it's pretty much her love language

★as well for pda but that's a topic for another day cuz i will not STOP once i start

★"hey, girlie" when greeting u in a high pitched voice like,,, she's so easy to love bro

★also definitely gorgeous. ure her gorgeous girl.

NSFW.

★pillow princess sasha confirmed👑

★no i mean she can definitely take the lead, there's not really a fixed power dynamic when ur with her, but i feel she most times prefers being taken care of (as she SHOULD)

★main thing she'll call u during the nasty is baby

★depends on what ure into but she's definitely into addressing u as "ma'am"

★also princess :(

★uses ur name more during sex tho!!

★feels it's more intimate and personal that way

★i want to EAT her

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed this veRY self indulgent lil thing aaaand i'll see u beans next time! uuuhbye bye xx

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 6

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (finally!)

A/N: This came pouring out of me and thank god for the lovely @the-scandalorian who responded to my frantic “can you read today” messages with the support and grace and filthy heart and mind she always does ❤️ thank you my lovely ❤️ enjoy!

—

He deepens the kiss immediately. 

Tongue sliding into your mouth, taking, taking, taking. 

He fists your hair in his grip, tugging on the strands with a low groan of hunger that slips from his throat and you lean into his strength, matching it with your own. Your mouths move against each other’s, your lips molding to his firmer ones, and he kisses you with experience, with greed, with desperation. His hold tightens on your hair and he eats at your mouth, as if he can barely control what he’s been trying to rein in. 

Your touch slides across his whiskered cheek and slips around the nape of his neck, your head tilting to the side with a soft, muffled moan and he tries to sit up, only to abruptly pull away with a hiss of pain. 

The sound breaks the spell, and worry floods your features. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he assures you, breathless. “Just got…carried away.”

His eyes are still on your mouth, even with his hand over the fresh wound concealed under his thermal. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, shifting to put some distance between your bodies. “I never should have – not when you’re like that. I –”

He cuts your rambling, cupping your cheek to keep you in place. 

“Shhh, Birdie. It’s okay.” A smile tugs at the edge of his lips. “I more than complied with your silent request. In fact,” he argues with a raise of his brow, “one could argue that I encouraged it.”

You match his small smile with a bashful one of your own. 

“Though it is true that I might not be in the best form to…reciprocate, the way I want.”

Hesitation flits across your face. “And do you? Want?”

His gaze darkens, a shadow of lust that seems to overtake the deep brown. “Very much so, Birdie. Very much.”

His admission must pool slick and warm in the cradle of your hips, given the way you press them together. He notices. He notices everything when it comes to you. You pluck your bottom lip with with your teeth, and he can see the clear need on your face - the one you’re also trying to rein in. He knows he’s too injured for it right now, but he can’t wait to see what you’ll be like when you let loose. When you act before thinking, when you take what you want. 

He’s weighing the decision of pushing through his pain to kiss you again when you lean back. 

With eyes on you, he watches as you crawl over and pluck your blanket from your cot, before crawling back over to his. He’s making room for you before you even reach him, a space you eagerly fill with your body. It’s a tight fit, and when you stretch out alongside him, your limbs naturally fold against his. He drapes his arm over your side, and you’re careful not to touch his wound. 

He thinks he wouldn’t care if you stuck your finger in it if it meant having you even closer. 

“Is this okay?” you ask, timid and soft. The warmth of your breath skims across his neck, and his eyes flutter shut. 

He hums. “More than.”

Rain starts to pelt the outside of the pod, a steady drum that fills the silence. He thinks maybe you’ve fallen asleep when you speak again. 

“That was close today,” you murmur. “Too close.”

He says nothing for once, his hand sliding a soothing path up your spine. He maps the curve of it underneath his palm, tracing your vertebrae with his fingers. For all the nights he’s dreamed about touching you just like this, it feels better than he could have ever imagined. Even if his body is strung tight, wanting so much more. 

Your hand finds his thermal and twists the worn fabric, clutching it. “I thought maybe I was going to…” You stumble on your words, and he waits, listening to the tremble in your voice. “I thought that would be it. That I would be…alone.”

He knows he should say something in comfort, but the words don’t come. Instead, actions do: a weight in his chest struggling to break free, his hands itching with the need to touch your face. His arm tightens  its hold on you. 

“I couldn’t make it if I was alone, Ez. I wouldn’t – I’d never be able to –”

Your breathing starts to hitch, and he frowns as if in pain and cradles the crown of your head, pulling you close. 

“I need you.” Your words catch on a sob. 

It hurts, the sound. It rips him apart, fracturing his hard exterior, exposing the soft core. Soft, just for you. Only for you. 

You cry and your little body shakes with it, tears wetting the collar of his thermals, the delicate wings of your shoulder blades trembling. The high of adrenaline must be crashing within you, and he presses you tighter against him, petting your hair. 

“It’s okay, Birdie,” he soothes. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

–

After that, you fall into a deep sleep. 

Your body is boneless next to his, melting against him even more. The first time since he’s met you that he can’t sense any tension in your muscles, he takes the opportunity to close his eyes and revel in the feeling. 

It’s been so long since he’s touched anyone – even longer since he’s touched anyone like this. Your small hand has slipped beneath the back of his thermal, your face tucked into his neck and with a careful movement and a wince of pain, he shifts onto his side to see you better. 

The soft curve of your cheek in the dark, the flutter of your lashes as you dream. The slope of your nose, your lips parted only just with soft, steady breaths. He watches the thrum of your pulse beat in the dark, so delicate, your skin unblemished and soft. It calls for his mouth, but it calls deeper than that too. 

She’s mine. 

The sentiment had been ripped out of his body without him even knowing, every plunge of his blade meant to protect you. A rage like he’d never felt before had taken over when the man threatened to violate you, surprising even him in its ferocity. His bicep was still sore from exertion, and looking at you now, he wants to find ten more men and do the same. 

He wants to kill everyone on this planet just to keep you safe. Just to make sure you never feel that type of fear again. 

He guides your head back into the crook of his neck, your nose fitting just right in the well of his collarbone as if it was always meant to be there. 

A soft, sleepy sigh escapes you, and he closes his eyes. Tucking his chin against the crown of your hair, he presses you closer. 

–

You half expect him to wake you up with a kiss, and half not. You aren’t sure how this is supposed to go. 

He's still asleep when you wake up, so you slip out from beside him and take a shower. The warmth of his skin lingers in the small space, water sliding over your sore muscles. 

“I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right next to your dead fucking –”

The memory of yesterday twists your stomach, and you scrub harder at your skin, as if the action could remove the words from your mind. They make you feel filthy, but more than that, it’s the mental image of Ezra’s dead body that haunts you. He came out on top yesterday, but if he hadn’t? You feel the weight of a sob gathering at the base of your throat, and you hold your face under the stream of water, letting the sound push everything away. 

You don’t want to cry again. You had cried enough last night – cried in front of him, something you’d never done in front of anyone before, not even your father. Normally it wouldn’t be something you’d let anyone see, but last night…last night you couldn’t help it. The fear inside you had risen to a pitch and then crashed, too many feelings swirling within you: relief that he was alive, pride that he killed for you, shame following close on its heels. True, bone deep terror at the thought of almost dying, and later, the release of desire that had been bottled up for weeks. 

You needed to purge every one of those emotions, and tucked against his body, you felt safe enough for the first time to do it in the presence of another human being. He petted your hair and stroked your back, absorbing it all in an uncharacteristic silence aside from the gentle sounds he made with his mouth. You poured everything out and he caught it all, holding you close until you felt calm enough to stop. 

You had slept better than you had since you got here, and when you step out of the shower to find Ezra digging through the bin that held his clothing, you sense he feels the same. Certainly looks it, even for someone who had been stabbed the night before. 

“Good morning, Birdie,” he greets you, fishing through the med kit. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod, feeling shy all of a sudden. Do you go over and kiss him? Do you talk to him like it never happened? The intimacy last night was so thick it was unbearable: all consuming, quiet and warm, safe from the light of day. A liminal space where the two of you let yourselves act on impulse. Did that still apply?

“I myself was going to take a shower. Did you leave any hot water for me?”

His casual words soothe your nerves. “Yea, there should be more than enough. I wasn’t in there for long.” 

He tosses fresh bandages on the cot next to him, and you see the old ones, crusted with blood, lying next to them. He stands, and the sharp inhale of pain that he lets out has you reaching for him, forgetting all the uncertainty about how you’re supposed to act this morning around him. 

“Are you okay? Did the bandage come off?”

“I took it off,” he says, and your eyes drop to the site of the wound, hidden under his shirt. His fingers lift the material, and you wince at the raw stitches. He drops the shirt, and moves closer. “I thought it would be best to clean it. Who knows where that blade has been.”

A new worry strikes: germs, the constant dust that covers everything on this godforsaken planet. 

As always, he is quick to reassure you. 

“Hey,” he says, using his knuckle to nudge your chin up until your eyes meet his. “You’re thinking about this too hard. You did a fine job stitching me up last night, and fine job cleaning everything before that. I just want to get all the grime off.” His thumb slides over your bottom lip, his eyes tracking its movement. 

The small touch is enough to swallow your worry whole, replacing it with anticipation. He’s giving you the green light, and resting your hands on his hips, you brace yourself against the light-headedness that strikes when he starts to slide his touch down – down your chin, his hand curling around the side of your throat as his thumb traces the line of your jaw. 

“I’ll be right back.”

He leaves you standing there, a girl-shaped pool of want, a loose-limbed trembling thing that aches – but it’s nothing compared to what you feel when he gets out of the shower. 

Opening the door, he walks out in just his briefs. Your breathing hitches, your own clothing too tight on skin that aches to slide against his. 

All pretenses gone, he sits down on his cot and the water droplets that linger on his tanned shoulders catch the light when he reaches for the fresh bandages. “Can you help?” he asks, holding them out towards you. 

He leans back on his hands, thighs spread wide. There is so much of him: the streak of white more pronounced against his damp hair, his broad chest, his firm thighs. Hair that dusts along his limbs, more skin of his than you’ve ever seen. For all the ways you’d imagined a scenario like this happening, it catches you off guard how overwhelming the real thing feels. 

In a haze, you move, coming to stand between his feet. He watches as you slowly kneel between his spread thighs, and the look on his face is almost proud, if it weren’t for the stark, blatant hunger in his eyes. 

Unsure of where to start, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand. 

His stomach tenses when you smear ointment over the wound. His throat bobs with a hard swallow when you lay fresh bandages in place, smoothing them down. Carefully cutting fresh strips of tape, you try to ignore the way his tongue slides along his bottom lip as your fingers gently press them into place around the edges of the dressing. 

You perform a slow inspection to make sure it’s airtight – one that continues, even after you’re satisfied. 

Your eyes flit up to his in question, and the look he returns is as steady as you’ve ever seen it, full of silent permission. 

Splaying your fingers, the air between you feels heavy as you run an exploratory path along the curve of his hip, and up along the ridged muscles along his ribs. His body radiates heat underneath your palm, his skin smooth where it isn’t marred with numerous scars. Lighter against his flesh, they stand out: a thin slice along his ribs, a jagged, ugly looking thing on his inner thigh. When you get to the hair that collects beneath his navel, his thighs tense around your waist, but he remains otherwise still. 

Your mouth waters at the bulge at the crux of his thighs, a slowly thickening heft that forms underneath the dark fabric. Resting your hands on the top of his thighs, you shuffle your knees closer and you can hear his breath catch when you bend forward, pressing your mouth just over his bandage. 

The first sound he makes since you started rumbles out of his chest: a low, husky groan.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice rough. He pats his lap, and giving the bandage another kiss, you obey, climbing up to straddle him. 

When you’re fully seated, his hands settle lightly on your hips, and he takes his time looking. 

“Listen to me,” he murmurs, and you do, enraptured. A live wire in his hold, your body stands on the edge of a precipice. 

“This goes only as far as you want it to. You say stop, I’ll stop.”

“And if I don’t?”

The grin that spreads across his face can only be described as filthy. Filled with intent, something inside him waiting to pounce. You can see it in his eyes, hidden underneath the rich brown. Lying in wait, letting you come to him. You’re both exercising your own amount of restraint – yours is a bundle of nerves, his is a deep chasm of hunger. 

“Then I won’t,” he breathes against your lips, right before he meets them with his own. 

The press of his mouth sparks to life the unlit match inside you that was waiting for this. Your arms wind around his shoulders, his own curling around your waist. His hands press underneath your shirt, splaying over your back, so big his fingers almost touch and you can feel the thick ridge of his cock beneath you. Grinding on it, you almost sob with how good it feels after thinking about it for so long. 

You want to be filled so bad it hurts. 

He keeps kissing you: hands cupping your cheeks to hold you in place, sliding down your sides in a weighty drag, shoving themselves underneath the band of your thermals to grab handfuls of your ass. Back up again to tug your shirt off, molding to your tits to push them together with a groan. His mouth moves to kiss them instead of your lips, his whiskers dragging across the skin just above your bra, his tongue sliding along your sternum with a lick.

Pulling back, he works at the front clasp of your bra. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do everything that I’d like to,” he says, his eyes flicking down to his wound. “But I’m not totally useless.”

He tosses your bra to the floor, and your back arches when he uses his thumbs to rub the tight buds of your nipples right before he replaces the touch with his mouth. He sucks them each in turn, his tongue laving over each sensitive peak, drawing them into his mouth, and biting the plump flesh around them when he cups his hand to push more of it into his mouth. He’s rough with you as his hunger grows, guiding your willing body into position and pressing his hold against your back, his kisses move up your chest to lick at your throat, his teeth catching the skin there. He nibbles on the curve of your jaw, sucks on your earlobe and the crotch of your leggings are soaked when his lips brush along the shell of your ear. 

“I’ve waited so long, Birdie. So long.” His hand slides into the hair along your nape, and he tugs, tipping your head back until you’re looking at him. “I know you have too.”

Your pulse racing in your chest, your belly jumps when you feel his other hand skim along your bare stomach. His eyes stay on yours as his touch skims lower and lower, teasing at the waistband of your leggings. He tucks his fingers inside, a fresh pool of slick wetting your underwear when he brushes against the soft thatch of your pubic hair. 

“Is it wet for me?” he asks. 

Helpless, you nod, swallowing hard. Your fingers curl into his biceps, and his hold on your hair tightens. 

“Can I touch it?”

You nod again, and he grins, a dimple catching at his cheek. His hand slips lower, his wrist forcing your leggings down in the front. 

“The amount of time I’ve thought about doing this. About touching you here.”

Tandem groans of relief sound through the air when his fingers meet the slick wetness that waits for him, his touch sliding through your seam before he presses his fingers up, up, up, your mouth dropping open as he fills you. 

“You already feel like heaven between your thighs,” he says, the words dripping in reverence. “I wish I could taste the bliss that is your cunt.”

The filthy words ratchet you higher, the inside of your thighs straining as you grind yourself into his hand to force his fingers deeper. Like he was being quiet during your exploration only to ambush your senses when he was ready, his words are endless, dripping with intent. 

“Tell me where it hurts, Birdie. Let me soothe the ache.”

“Show me, little one. Show me how you’ve thought about me doing this.”

Your hand wraps around his wrist as you steady yourself, a frown of pleasure etched deep between your brows and you fuck yourself on his thick fingers, your hips never stopping in their roll. His thumb finds your clit, and you cry out towards the ceiling of the pod, a sound that makes him chuckle, dark sounding and pleased. 

A trembling mess on his lap, you’re helpless as he forces you higher and higher, his fingers filling and precise, sliding against a deep spot inside you that you’ve only dreamed of. Just as lethal as he is outside, just as in command as he always is, he plays your body like he’s played it a thousand times before – every stroke tipping you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, breathless. “Fuck.”

“Here?” he asks, smiling when you curl forward, resting your head against his shoulder. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding on. Everything that you’ve wanted the entire time you’ve been stuck here with him swirls and blends with everything you’ve ever always wanted and never got, and when he adds a third finger you look at him with hooded, pleading eyes – only to see dark victory in his own. 

He doesn’t have to goad you to tip you over the edge. 

It’s like a forceful shove off a cliff, your body floating through the air. Your jaw is clenched, your cunt clenching even tighter in pulses that squeeze his fingers and he watches it all with a greedy, proud expression. 

“There you go,” he talks you through it. 

“There’s my girl,” he praises, capturing your mouth in a kiss. 

–

It’s a scramble after that to get back down on the floor. 

He’s sucking on his fingers with a low, desperate groan and you’re tugging his briefs down. 

He’s watching as you take him out, hardening at the way your eyes widen. 

Your hand struggles to wrap fully around him, but you don’t hesitate a second before bending to guide him into your mouth. Your lips stretch around the thick tip of his cock, your tongue sliding along the sensitive underside, tracing the line of a vein. Sliding him deeper along your palate, his balls draw up, his cock hardening to the point of near-pain. Your hand works the thick base while you press forward to fit him along the back of your tongue, and it only takes a couple of deep throated strokes to bring him to the edge, with how long he’s been waiting. 

Wanting. 

Driving himself to madness, thinking about the taste of your cunt. 

At the thought, he sucks on his fingers again, and you raise your eyes to watch, a moan sliding out of your throat to caress the length of his cock. 

“Shit, Birdie. Shit,” he warns, hands fisting the blanket on his cot as he leans back to widen his thighs. They tremble along your shoulders, the muscles flexing under your palm where you stroke the inside of one. You find the scar you saw earlier and glide your touch over it, pressing your fingers into his flesh as you force him to the back of your throat. 

At that, he comes. 

Loud and filthy, the groan that he lets out is strained at the end as he pours over the back of your tongue. 

His fingers clench and flex, his eyes pinched shut as if he can’t bear looking as he fills your mouth with pulses of thick, pearly spend. Weeks of tension drain into your waiting mouth, enough that you can’t catch it all. 

When you pull back to swipe at a glistening thread of it that escapes your swollen mouth, there is something so innocent about the gesture that he groans again, this time a plea of his own. 

Pushing on your shoulders, he slides off the cot to drop to his knees in his haste to kiss you. 

You taste like you and like him, and he’s addicted, his cock firming with every lick inside your mouth. You whimper into the messy kiss, and it drives him to near madness the way he knows that if he would touch you right now, he’d find you soaked. 

He can’t fuck you – not with his stomach the way that it is – but he can do other things. 

So many other things. 

“I knew it,” he breathes into your mouth, guiding you onto the floor beneath him. “I knew it would be this good.”

You preen underneath him, reaching to pull him down on top of you. 

“I want more,” you beg. “Please, Ez. Please.”

The juxtaposition of how innocent you look while begging for something so filthy claws at his insides, his body reveling in the urge to teach you just how many ways he can make you feel good. 

He grins, bending down to devour you whole.

[gdinthehouseee]

Spotlight: KANG DAESUNG x READER

summary: as a backup dancer, you never expected to be paired with daesung for an intimate duet, but the chemistry between you is undeniable.

word count: 4994

tags: fluff; the guys relentless teasing

ao3 link

Rehearsals are in full swing. The room filled with the sounds of music and the shuffle of feet as everyone quickly stretches and cools down before the rest of the grueling day ahead. You’re used to this kind of thing by now, being a main backup dancer for BigBang was no easy job. Yet, today, there’s an unspoken tension in the air. Especially when the choreographer hurriedly walks back in, a clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the room.

“Alright, everyone, listen up!” They announce, clapping to get everyone's attention. “Today, we’re going to be pairing some of you up: we’ve got something special for this performance, so let’s make sure it’s perfect.”

You glance around at the other dancers, your mind wandering, trying to predict who would be a good fit for each of the guys. You were used to being grouped with the rest of the dancers, or at the very least you’d be paired with another one. What were you even performing? Naturally, you were waiting for this part to be over and done with. Needless to say you snapped out of whatever deep thinking you were doing when you realised the room had fallen dead silent, with the choreographer stood right in front of you.

“Daesung,” was all they said.

“Sorry?” You mumbled sheepishly. 

“You’re partnered with Daesung.” They sighed, pinching the bridge of their nose, clearly fed up of repeating themself. “Go stand with him before I change my mind. We don’t have time for whatever this is.”

Choosing to ignore their snappy tone, you seek your new partner out. He’s standing alone near the mirrors, towel draped around his neck, his fingers idly tapping against his water bottle. Waiting. Looking directly at you. For a second, the world inside the practice room shrinks, the steady hum of conversation fading into the background. Daesung blinks, clearly processing the pairing, and then his lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something but thinks better of it. Instead, a slow, hesitant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—warm, but laced with something unreadable. Why does everything feel so unreal today? 

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of the way his gaze lingers, searching yours as if silently asking, “are we really doing this?” And even though you nod and step forward like it’s nothing, your pulse betrays you, hammering in your ears with the quiet, undeniable truth—this feels different. Your eyes lock with his for a brief second, and you return an awkward smile. He has always been easy-going and fun to work with, but something about this pairing feels… different. You shrug it off and make your way toward him, trying to shake off the sudden butterflies in your stomach.

“So, we’re dancing together.” You say, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

Daesung grins, trying to appear calm, but you can see the glint of uncertainty in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to it,” is all he says back, his voice unusually quieter. 

He cracks a small smile, but there's a hint of nervous energy in his tone. You’ve never really had the chance to work closely with him in this way, and something about it feels a little more intense than usual. But it’s just choreography, right?

Once they were done assigning pairs, the choreographer starts demonstrating the routine. The music kicks in, and you both watch intently. It’s slow, sensual, and… intimate. A little too intimate, actually.

As the moves begin to take shape, you realize the steps are going to involve a lot more contact than you were prepared for—hands on waists, close body positioning, and moments where the line between professional and personal starts to blur. There’s an undeniable chemistry in the movement, one that you’re not sure how to handle just yet.

“Okay,” the choreographer says, gesturing for you and Daesung to step up. “Let’s see you try it.”

You and Daesung exchange a glance before stepping into position, but neither of you is quite sure how to begin. The first few moves are awkward, as you both try to stay in sync, but as the choreography continues, you can feel your bodies getting closer. His hand gently touches your waist, sending a spark of heat through your skin.

He hesitates, clearly unsure of how to maintain that professional distance. You can sense it—he’s a little unsure of how to pull off the intimacy without crossing some kind of boundary.

“Just follow my lead,” Daesung says, his hand now resting firmly on your lower back.

You nod, a little flustered by how natural it feels when you move together. The routine has a certain grace to it, but the closeness is making your heart beat faster. You try to focus, to keep it professional, but every time his touch lingers a little too long, it’s like the room gets warmer.

“Let’s add a little more fluidity here,” the choreographer instructs, and the next move requires you to twirl into Daesung’s arms, your chest brushing against his. It’s supposed to be graceful, but the reality of it feels far more intense than anything rehearsed in front of a mirror.

You step back, trying to hide the blush rising on your cheeks. You notice Daesung is a little flustered too, his gaze darting down to avoid eye contact. His hand on your waist feels heavier now, more intentional, and you realize you’re both trying to avoid looking at each other too much.

“Maybe we should… uh, try it again?” Daesung says, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Alright,” you whispered, mostly to yourself. “We’ve got this.”

You try to act as normal as possible, but the choreography is only making the air feel charged with something unspoken. His touch feels too warm, his presence too close, and neither of you seems ready to acknowledge how much chemistry is building between you with every step. The music starts again, and you both move through the routine with more familiarity now, but the problem isn’t the steps—it’s everything else. The way his breath brushes against your temple when he dips you. The way your hands find the solid planes of his chest as he guides you back up. The way his grip tightens—just slightly—when your bodies align too perfectly.

And then comes the part that always throws you off. The turn. The moment you spin into him, and he catches you, your back against his chest, your arms instinctively reaching up to hold onto him.

Only this time, something goes wrong.

You don’t know if you miscalculated the movement or if Daesung hesitated, but instead of smoothly transitioning into the next step, your balance wavers. Before you can even react, his arms tighten around you, keeping you from stumbling. For a moment, neither of you move.

Your breathing is uneven, your hands gripping onto his forearms, your body molded against his in a way that feels far too intimate for a rehearsal. His chest rises and falls against your back, and when you glance up, you catch his reflection in the mirror—his jaw clenched, gaze locked onto where his hands rest against your sides.

Then, just as the moment stretches too long—

“You know,” he muses, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. “If you wanted me to hold you, you could’ve just asked.”

You scoff, stepping away as he releases you. “You’re the one who didn’t let go.”

Daesung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was saving you. A true hero doesn’t hesitate in times of crisis.” He flashes a bright smile, effortlessly slipping back into his usual playful nature.

From the corner of the room, someone whistles.

“Wooow,” Ji-yong drawls, leaning against the wall with an exaggerated smirk. “Did you save her, Daesung? Or were you just looking for an excuse to hold on a little longer?”

A snicker comes from Taeyang, who’s stretching nearby. “I don’t think he wanted to let go at all.”

Daesung gasps dramatically, shaking his head. “How dare you question my noble intentions?” He turns to you, lips twitching like he’s barely holding in laughter. “Tell them. Didn’t I just selflessly prevent disaster?”

“Right. Very selfless.” You roll your eyes but can’t fight back the small smile creeping onto your lips.

Ji-yong nudges Taeyang. “Yeah, so selfless. He was definitely thinking about your safety and not the way he was holding onto you like a love-struck drama lead.”

“Oh, please. If this were a drama, I would’ve dipped her and declared my undying love by now.” He gives you a wink before grabbing his water bottle, casually avoiding the way his ears are turning pink.

The choreographer claps to get everyone’s attention. “Good save, Daesung! But try not to hesitate next time. Let’s run it again.”

You nod, shaking off the moment, but as you step back into position, you catch the way Daesung adjusts his grip on his bottle, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake something off.

Yeah. This is definitely not just another rehearsal.

After a few more run-throughs, the initial awkwardness fades into something smoother, more natural. You and Daesung fall into an easy rhythm, your movements syncing up effortlessly. The hesitations disappear, replaced by a quiet understanding of each other’s pace, each step, each breath. The turns become sharper, the dips deeper, and by the time you reach the final pose, your bodies settle into place without a second thought. It’s seamless—intense yet fluid, charged yet controlled. When the music cuts off, Daesung meets your gaze, a grin spreading across his face as he exhales. You can’t help but return the smile.

“Not bad,” he teases, still a little breathless. “I think we might actually make this look good.”

“Might?” You echo, letting out your own breathless laugh.

“Alright, alright. I’ll admit it—we’re kind of killing it. But don’t go getting a big head on me. We still have to do this in front of thousands of people.”

You smirk, stepping back as the choreographer walks over, nodding in approval. “That’s exactly how it should look,” they praise, clapping their hands together. “Great work, you two. The chemistry is there—it feels natural, intense, but not forced. Keep that energy for the real thing.”

You nod, reaching for your water bottle as you try to catch your breath. Daesung does the same, but you don’t miss the way he stretches his arms behind his head, a satisfied grin still tugging at his lips.

“See?” You say, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “And here you were doubting my abilities.”

He feigns a dramatic gasp. “Me? Doubt you? I’d never.” His voice is dripping with mock sincerity, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you—something softer beneath the teasing. “Guess I just needed a little convincing.”

Before you can fire back, a voice cuts through the air.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” the choreographer announces, clapping their hands together yet again. “You two have the routine down. Take a break, hydrate, and we’ll run it again later.”

You exhale, rolling out your shoulders as you grab your water bottle. “Sounds good,” you say, offering Daesung a small smile before turning toward the exit. “I’ll be back—I need to use the bathroom.”

He nods, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Don’t take too long. I might forget all my moves without my dance partner.”

You roll your eyes but laugh, shaking your head as you head out of the practice room.

The door swings shut behind you, and for a second, Daesung lets out a breath, placing his hands on his hips as he tilts his head back. The routine had been intense—nothing too complicated, but the closeness, the way your body moved against his, the way you looked at him in the mirror during each turn and dip—yeah, he was feeling it. Maybe a little too much. Unfortunately, his moment of reflection is short-lived.

“Well, that was interesting,” Ji-yong’s voice cuts in, far too amused for Daesung’s liking.

Daesung groans before turning around, only to find Ji-yong, Taeyang, and Seung-hyun standing there, arms crossed, smug grins plastered across their faces.

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence as he grabs his towel.

“What?” Ji-yong mocks, raising a brow. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if we should be preparing for an on-stage confession along with that dance routine.”

Daesung throws his towel at him, but Ji-yong dodges it with a laugh.

“That was definitely more than just performing,” Taeyang adds, shaking his head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—it looked great. But I think someone was enjoying it a little too much.”

Daesung scoffs, grabbing his water bottle as he tries to brush them off. “You guys are reaching. It’s choreography. You know, like the kind we do all the time?”

Seung-hyun hums thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “Maybe. Or maybe you just have really good chemistry with them.” He tilts his head, watching Daesung carefully. “Tell me, were you acting when you stared at them like they were the only person in the room?”

Daesung nearly chokes on his water. “I—I was not—”

Ji-yong lets out a loud laugh, clapping his hands. “Ohhh, that was so real! You should’ve seen your face when they walked off just now. I swear, I saw longing.”

“I hate all of you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Taeyang teases, slinging an arm around Daesung’s shoulder. “We just think it’s adorable how obvious you are.”

Daesung clenches his jaw, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression, but inside, his thoughts are a complete mess. They’re reaching. They have to be. He wasn’t staring at you. Was he? He tries to replay the last few minutes in his head, but all he can focus on is the way you had smiled at him before leaving, the way your skin had felt against his during the routine, the way his chest had felt almost empty the second you were gone. Okay. Maybe they have a point. But what’s he supposed to do? Admit it? Confess right here and let them have a field day? No way. He has a reputation to uphold—one that doesn’t involve getting caught up in feelings for a backup dancer who probably doesn’t think twice about him outside of rehearsals. So instead, he scoffs, rolls his eyes, and prays that the heat crawling up his neck isn’t as obvious as it feels.

Inside the bathroom, you grip the sink’s edge, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin is flushed, strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead from the intensity of rehearsals. You reach for a paper towel, dabbing at your face as you take a slow breath.

Dancing with Daesung shouldn’t feel this different. You’ve worked with them before, rehearsed routines just as intimate—maybe even more so. But there’s something about the way he holds you, the way his hands settle at your waist, firm but gentle, the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable when your gazes meet in the mirror. It makes your heart race in a way that has nothing to do with the dance itself.

Shaking your head, you sigh. Get a grip. This is work. That’s all it is. And even if—if—Daesung had been acting a little differently, what would it mean? He’s an idol. You’re a backup dancer. It’s not like he’d ever actually—

You stop yourself before that thought goes too far, forcing yourself to splash cold water on your face instead. When you finally step back out into the hall, you straighten your posture, roll out your shoulders, and push every unnecessary thought aside. Time to get back to work.

By the time rehearsals wrap up and concert preparations are in full swing, you and Daesung have perfected the routine. The lingering touches, the way your bodies move in sync—it all feels natural now, like second nature. But what hasn’t changed is the playful banter between you, the way he sneaks in little jokes during practice, the way you tease him back just as easily.

Now, standing backstage just before the concert, you do a final check in the mirror, smoothing down your performance outfit. The stage lights cast a glow over everything, making the sequins and fabric shimmer under your touch. With a deep breath, you step out into the hallway, only to find Daesung standing there, waiting.

The moment his eyes land on you, he freezes. His easygoing smile falters, his mouth parting slightly as if his brain has short-circuited. You raise a brow, tilting your head.

“What?” You ask, amused.

Daesung blinks. “Uh—” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh… you look—” He stops himself, squeezing his eyes shut for half a second like he’s trying to reboot his brain. “I mean, you’re—you’re ready for the performance?”

You bite back a grin, not missing the pink dusting his ears. “Obviously. Are you?”

“I—of course! Definitely.” He laughs, but it comes out just a little too forced, and you can feel the flustered energy radiating off him.

Before you can push him further, the sound of familiar laughter echoes down the hall. You glance over to see Ji-yong, Taeyang, and Seung-hyun watching the whole interaction unfold, grinning like they’ve just won the lottery.

“Ohhh, Daesung,” Ji-yong drawls, crossing his arms. “You good, man? You look a little—” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Flustered.”

Taeyang chuckles. “Nah, he’s just realizing what we’ve known all along.”

Daesung groans, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you guys.”

You laugh, the playful energy between you and the guys making the moment feel lighthearted despite Daesung’s obvious discomfort. He’s trying so hard to maintain his usual easygoing attitude, but the blush creeping up his neck gives him away.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, pushing past them toward the stage. “I’m not doing this with you guys today.”

You watch him go, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips. There’s something endearing about how easy it is to make him flustered—something you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to. The teasing, the way he tries to play it off, it only makes the attraction you’ve been trying to ignore that much harder to suppress. You take a step forward, but before you can follow him, Ji-yong stops you with a teasing grin.

“So,” Ji-yong begins, tilting his head, “how long are you planning to keep pretending you’re not noticing anything?”

You glance at him, trying to mask your nervousness. “What are you talking about?”

Taeyang leans in, giving you a mischievous smile. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t see it. We’ve all noticed how Daesung’s been around you lately.”

“Not to mention,” Seung-hyun adds, his voice low and teasing, “you seem pretty… comfortable with it.”

You feel your stomach flip and force a chuckle, hoping you don’t look as flustered as you feel. “He’s just… friendly, okay? It’s nothing.”

Ji-yong raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Friendly, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You shake your head, pretending to look disinterested. “Really, I’m just focused on the performance, guys. That’s it.”

Taeyang snickers. “Sure, sure. Focused. But don’t you think you’ve got a little more energy when he’s around?”

“Maybe you’re just imagining it,” Seung-hyun teases, nudging you gently. “Couldn’t be Daesung, right?”

You shoot them a playful glare, trying to keep your composure. “You’re all ridiculous,” you mutter, brushing past them and heading toward the stage.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Ji-yong calls after you with a grin. “We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. So, you better figure it out before someone else does!”

You quicken your pace, your cheeks flushed, but there's a smile on your lips that you can’t suppress. You’re not sure if they’re right—or if they’re just messing with you—but something inside you tells you it might not be nothing after all. You try to shake off the lingering heat from their teasing as you head toward the stage. It’s fine. It’s nothing. They’re just messing with you; they have to be. Right?

As you step backstage, adjusting the final details of your performance outfit, you don’t expect to find Daesung standing alone near the edge of the stage. He’s rolling his shoulders, stretching out his arms, preparing for the show. The usual brightness in his expression is subdued, replaced with a quiet kind of focus.

You hesitate for a moment before walking up to him. “Hey.”

His head turns at the sound of your voice, but the second his eyes land on you, his entire body freezes.

You stop a few steps away, confused by his reaction. “...What?”

Daesung just stares. His mouth opens slightly like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. His gaze lingers on you, moving over every detail—the way the fabric of your outfit catches the backstage lighting, the way it fits you just right, the way you stand there looking effortlessly confident and ready for the stage.

He exhales, barely above a whisper. “Wow.”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

His eyes finally meet yours, something unreadable flickering behind them before he smiles softly. “You look… stunning.”

The way he says it—without hesitation, without teasing—makes something tighten in your chest.

Your lips part slightly, but before you can even think of a response, he continues, voice quieter now. “I mean it. You always have this presence, but right now… you look like you belong up there. Like a star.”

The weight of his words settles over you, warm and unexpectedly sincere. For a second, you forget how to speak.

Daesung chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, was that too much? I just—” He exhales, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t not say it.”

A slow warmth creeps up your neck, and you tell yourself it’s just the pre-show adrenaline, but the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to ignore the way your pulse speeds up.

But then your eyes flicker over him—the way his stage outfit fits perfectly, the way his hair falls effortlessly into place, the way the backstage lights highlight his features. And without really thinking, you blurt out, “You too.”

“Huh?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling just as flustered as he looks. “I mean—you look really good too. Like, really good. Kind of unfairly good.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for the first time since you met him, Daesung is the one who looks completely caught off guard. A slow, boyish grin spreads across his lips. “Unfairly good?”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and for a second, you swear he looks even happier than he did when he complimented you. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

You scoff, lightly shoving his arm. “Oh, so my compliments are rare, huh?”

“They are! Usually, you’re just making fun of me.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “So, I’m going to hold onto this one for a while.”

You shake your head with a chuckle, but there’s no denying the warmth in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, the energy between you shifting into something unspoken, something that lingers even as the call for performers echoes through the backstage.

“Guess we should head out,” you finally say.

Daesung nods, but before you turn away, you hear him mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch—

“Yeah… before I say something even dumber.”

You don’t call him out on it. But as you walk side by side toward the stage, you can’t shake the feeling that something between you just changed.

The stage is alive with energy, the deafening cheers of the crowd fueling every movement as you and the rest of the dancers throw yourselves into the performance. The first few songs are high-energy, packed with sharp footwork and powerful formations that leave your heart pounding in exhilaration.

Daesung, as always, is magnetic. His voice soars effortlessly over the music, his expressions shifting between playful and intense as he moves in perfect sync with the beat. You steal a glance at him during a transition, catching the way his lips curl into a bright, breathless smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes it impossible not to grin back.

As the set progresses, the choreography grows more fluid, the atmosphere shifting into something slower—something charged. 

The moment is coming.

Your pulse quickens when the familiar instrumental begins, signaling the start of the duet routine. The rest of the stage dims slightly, putting just the two of you in focus. You step toward each other, movements deliberate and practiced, but the weight of the moment feels entirely new under the bright stage lights. The first few steps are easy—flowing, controlled—but then comes the part that always makes your breath hitch. The music slows, your bodies drawn closer, every touch of his hand against yours sending warmth curling in your stomach. His palm finds the curve of your waist, firm but careful, and when you meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly makes you forget the next step.

And then—so soft you almost think you imagined it—Daesung leans in just enough for his lips to brush the shell of your ear.

“You look amazing tonight.”

His voice low, breath warm against your skin. Your stomach flips, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. For a moment, you almost falter, but years of training keep your body moving as if nothing happened. As if his words haven’t sent a jolt of heat through you. There’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight. Something unspoken.

But there’s no time to dwell on it. The next beat hits, and you both move seamlessly into the next phrase, bodies shifting as if you aren’t seconds away from crossing some invisible line. The routine ends with the two of you standing close, breaths mingling, the lights hitting just right to capture the moment. The crowd erupts, but your heart is beating too loudly to process it fully. You’ve danced this sequence countless times, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel like just a performance. 

And from the way he looks at you before the stage fades to black, you’re almost certain he feels it too.

Backstage is still buzzing with post-concert energy—staff rushing around, dancers cooling down, the echoes of cheering fans still ringing in your ears. You press a towel to your face, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The adrenaline of the performance still lingers in your veins, but more than that, you can feel the presence of someone standing close.

Daesung.

You turn, and sure enough, he’s there—his hair damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to his toned frame, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. But his expression is what catches you off guard. He’s looking at you, really looking, with something unreadable in his eyes.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, stepping closer. His voice is softer than before, but there’s an intensity in it that makes your stomach flutter.

You smile, nudging him playfully. “So were you. Though I think the fans might’ve collectively lost their minds during that song.”

He laughs, but then his expression shifts. His fingers brush over the back of his neck, a telltale sign of nervousness.

“Hey, um…” He hesitates for only a second before exhaling and looking at you again, this time with more certainty. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and—well, I don’t want to dance around it anymore.”

You tilt your head slightly, heart thudding. “Daesung…?”

“I like you,” he admits, his voice steady despite the slight pink dusting his cheeks. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been completely gone for you. And I know things can be complicated, but… would you go on a date with me?”

“You’re really asking me out right after we just finished sweating buckets on stage?”

“I figured if you can handle me at my worst, then it’s a good sign.”

“Then… yes.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, biting your lip as you look up at him. “I like you too, Daesung.”

The relief that washes over his face is immediate, and before you can say anything else, he moves without thinking—closing the small gap between you and leaning in. It’s slow at first, tentative, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you meet him halfway, lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

Just as the world narrows down to only him, the door swings open.

“Well, well, well,” Ji-yong’s voice rings out.

“Oh, this is too good,” Taeyang adds.

Seung-hyun just whistles lowly.

You and Daesung practically jump apart, though he keeps a hand on your waist as if afraid to let go. Your face burns as you turn to see the three of them standing there, looking far too amused.

Ji-yong crosses his arms, grinning. “So, are we invited to the wedding or what?”

Daesung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can I get, like, five seconds of peace?”

“Nope,” Seung-hyun smirks. “Not when we just walked in on that.”

Taeyang nudges Ji-yong. “Told you it was only a matter of time.”

You bury your face in your hands with a laugh, while Daesung mutters something about never catching a break. But despite the teasing, the embarrassment, and the relentless grins from his friends, there’s no mistaking the quiet joy in his eyes when he looks at you again.

And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing about this moment.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey

[aventurineswife]

Been reading a solid amount of your stories for a lil bit and they’re literally peak. Thank you for feeding me everyday. 🙏

I had a little idea rolling around in my head. Aventurine’s eyes are literally so pretty and I think they deserve to be appreciated, so I was thinking like kissing around them. Kiss on the eyelid, on the corner of the eye, on the bit of cheek under the eye… kissing away tears maybe (Not sure how that would fit in and you could absolutely discard it. I was just trying to come up with as many eye-related-kisses as I could)

The Eyes Are the Window

Summary: In a quiet, intimate moment, you and Aventurine share a tender exchange where you express your admiration for his striking eyes. What begins as a simple gesture of affection—kissing around his eyes—evolves into a deeper connection, revealing a rare vulnerability in the master strategist. As you show him the appreciation he so often hides behind his bravado, Aventurine lets down his guard, allowing you to glimpse the man behind the charm and manipulation.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Romance, Intimacy, Vulnerability, Affection, Kissing, Eye Kisses.

The dimly lit room hummed with the quiet sounds of the night, and the soft glow of scattered candles illuminated the sharp lines of Aventurine’s face. He was sitting across from you, his hands resting lightly on the armrests of his chair, a casual but commanding presence. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, their pupils catching the light in a way that was almost mesmerizing. But tonight, you weren’t looking at them to decipher his next move in a game of strategy—you were looking at them because you couldn’t help but wonder what they might reveal in a quieter moment.

He caught your gaze as you stared at him, his lips curving into that infamous enigmatic smile. "Something on your mind, my dear?" His voice was a smooth, playful drawl, but you saw the flicker of curiosity beneath it.

You didn’t respond immediately, instead leaning forward slightly, your eyes scanning the delicate curve of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline, and the intensity of his gaze. There was a vulnerability in the way his eyes shifted under your scrutiny, but it was fleeting, as if he were trying to mask it. He let his gaze linger on you, clearly accustomed to being the one who played the observer, the manipulator. But tonight, the roles felt... different.

"I think you have the most stunning eyes I've ever seen," you finally said, your voice soft and steady, careful not to break the stillness of the moment.

Aventurine’s smile grew, though it was tinged with something more subtle, more genuine than the usual mask of charm. "Flattery, hmm?" He leaned back, running a hand through his tousled hair, but his eyes remained locked on yours, a quiet curiosity dancing within them.

You shook your head, closing the distance between you just a little, stepping closer. “I mean it.”

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I wonder… What would you do with that information, hm?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, thick with unspoken tension. Then, you slowly reached up, your fingertips brushing lightly across the corner of his eye, the delicate skin under his lower lashline. The gesture was soft, almost reverent.

Aventurine froze for a moment, his gaze flicking down to your fingers as if to assess the intent. His breath hitched ever so slightly—just enough for you to notice.

Slowly, cautiously, you pressed your lips against the skin beneath his eye, kissing the delicate corner there. A warmth bloomed inside you as you felt his breath catch in surprise. His skin was soft, his heartbeat steady under the surface.

"Such boldness," he murmured, his voice a low whisper as if testing the waters. But his eyes closed for a moment, a small, contented sigh escaping his lips, betraying the calm exterior he so carefully maintained.

You kissed the other corner of his eye, just as gently, and then slowly moved to the area beneath the other eye. Each kiss was a careful offering, a subtle gesture that spoke of trust, not manipulation.

His smile never faltered, but there was something different about it now. Something softer, less like the strategist, more like the man he kept buried beneath the layers of his crafted persona. His eyelids fluttered closed for just a heartbeat as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, right where the curve met the soft skin beneath his eye.

"Is this some sort of game you're playing with me, or are you actually being... sincere?" His voice was a playful challenge, but the tension in his posture had relaxed, and his breath was even.

You moved closer, this time pressing your lips gently to the delicate skin of his eyelid. Your hand, still lingering near his cheek, lightly cupped his face, the touch tender, but with intent. Aventurine’s eyes fluttered open at the contact, meeting yours with an unreadable gaze, but there was something in his expression that made your heart skip a beat.

“I’m just kissing the pieces of you that deserve to be appreciated," you murmured, brushing your thumb lightly against his cheek. "Your eyes are beautiful... I want to show you how much."

For a moment, he didn’t speak. His eyes lingered on yours, filled with a quiet gratitude that was rare for him. Then, slowly, he tilted his head to the side and chuckled, that familiar playful glint returning to his gaze. "I suppose... I could get used to this."

You smiled, tracing your thumb over his lips, watching as his eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping him. "You're not so hard to read, Aventurine," you whispered. "Not when I look close enough."

His eyes opened again, meeting yours with a strange depth. "And what do you see, my dear?" His tone was still playful, but there was a weight to it now, as though he had peeled back a small piece of his usual mask and allowed you to glimpse what lay beneath.

“Someone who’s scared of losing,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aventurine’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise. His breath stilled for just a moment before he gave a soft, almost imperceptible chuckle. “You’re right, of course. But, perhaps, for tonight... I’ll let the game be different.”

You smiled, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his eye, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips. It was a kiss that wasn’t about manipulation or strategy, but something simpler—something more honest. The gamble had always been with him, but for once, you let him take the risk of being seen.

[the-ace-with-spades]

History repeats itself AU or an AU where Bradley, one way or another, becomes what Mav was to him

When Bradley enters flight school, he's still reeling with anger about Mav and everyone tries to stay outta his way - he demolishes the training, talks to no one and ignores any attempts at assimilation with his train group.

There are only two people who never get offended - Mike and Sarah, an aviator and WSO couple that is also (not so secretly) a couple in their personal life.

Sarah is a laid-back lady who always has the right quips, Mike is a walking sunshine, always trying to see the best in people - Bradley often wonders how they ended up in the military. (He learns it not long after - they were both products of foster care, just like Bradley's mom and Mav, and in parts, Bradley himself, and had little choice given their financial situation.)

They're both nothing but persistent at befriending Bradley, always too handsy, always too smiley, always replying to his grunts and insults with the same without minding the attitude, always inviting him everywhere and inviting themselves into Bradley's plans without asking for permission.

By the time they finish flight school, all three of them live together in a two-bed house. When they got assigned to the same F-18 training squad, they move together, too, this time in a three-bed house in a nicer location.

A substantial amount of people actually think that there’s some kind of a trouple thing going on with them… Jake included. When Bradley starts being interested in him, for a minute or two, Jake thinks Bradley is trying to find a fourth for some kind of harem — this quickly gets resolved, though, because Sarah and Mike tease Bradley ruthlessly about Jake.

Jake and Bradley are not quite dating but they start having a thing just around the same time when Sarah finds out she’s pregnant.

Bradley is the first to learn that Sarah is pregnant, even before Mike. She is panicked as hell, still with the pregnancy test, rumbling all about how they will separate them now, how they won't be able to fly in a duo, how she might have to quit the Navy - and Bradley is the one takes her off the edge, reasoning that Mike would never want her to quit, that it's all going to work out some way.

And it does, at first. Sarah goes on light duty and Bradley and Mike negotiate a switch with their command — Bradley will take on Sarah as his WSO and Mike will start flying solo. They won’t be able to get deployed together anymore, but there will be at least one person at all times, with the kid, once they’re born. Bradley is named the godfather before they even know they’re having a girl and is the one to help Sarah plan the wedding — is the one to help her find a wedding dress that fits her baby bump, helps find a nice public place to hold the ceremony, helps to arrange the other bits, helps mix up the baby shower into the party. Mike takes a two weeks leave from his deployment to get married when Sarah is 6 months pregnant and they’re all really happy. It feels like Bradley has a family - a brother and sister, like he’s going to be an uncle.

Jake teases him so much because Bradley keeps on crying throughout the day, as the witness and when he makes the speech and when the gender reveal happens — even though Bradley had actually been the secret keeper of the little piece of paper they had been given by the tech when he accompanied Sarah to her scan. Jake is Bradley’s date to the wedding, which is also the first time they show up together anywhere officially — the relationship is still not really defined or named, but it is a Relationship with a capital R.

And then Mike dies on deployment, not even two weeks after their wedding.

Bradley is left grieving his best friend, feeling guilty because it was supposed to be him on that deployment, before they switched Sarah to fly with Bradley, and Sarah is 7 months pregnant and newly a widow. So he steps up even further, just locks everything he feels and tries to get them both through all of it, despite doubting how they can survive this.

Jake steps up, a lot, too. Because Bradley is there for Sarah but someone has to be there for him, too, and he can’t ask that of Sarah. He’s a their place almost every day, helps organising the funeral, helps get the nursery in order.

And then the worst scenerio possible happens — Sarah goes into labour and everything that could go wrong, goes wrong. The labour takes hours on end, going so slow they’re sent away and come back to the hospital a couple of times, but the minute when they try to induce her and speed up the process, the baby turns around and becomes breech and she is born but there’s so much blood they roll Sarah into the OR before she can even hug her.

Bradley is left in the NICU with little baby Daisy for hours and hours, never getting much of an answer of what is going on. The nurses try to dodge his questions as they show him how to change the baby and how to feed her the bottle and it all feels so surreal — all those firsts should've been Sarah’s to do.

He never sees Sarah alive again.

He doesn’t know what to do, once they tell him, so he calls Jake.

And being honest, Jake doesn’t know what to do either. He brings some more clothes for Bradley and Daisy into the hospital, brings him takeaways to eat, lets him sleep in the armchair for a few hours, keeping an eye on Daisy for him, brings him a coffee and a sandwich from the downstairs shop, and when the time comes, tries to remember as much information as possible, because Bradley might look calm, but he’s hysteric on the inside.

Bradley attends his second funeral in less than three months with a week old baby in his arms.

The shock doesn’t fully wear off when the CPS makes Bradley the temporary guardian for Daisy - he was Sarah’s next of kin and the only living person close to her - but the panic sets when he discovers the will states that in the event of death of both Mike and Sarah, he gets everything, Daisy’s custody included.

And the headaches start — Bradley is on special leave now, but at some point he’d have to leave the nursery and face the world. And no amount of Jake doing grocery runs and picking up paperwork for Bradley and phoning in to book appointments for Bradley can prevent that.

One of the evenings, when it all becomes too much, when Daisy hasn’t stopped crying for hours, when he can’t stop wishing Sarah or Mike were here, where they should be, when he can’t stop thinking about how this is all his bad luck’s fault, when the legal and social teams are on his ass to make a decision on what he wants to do next, he has a little breakdown. Because he wants to do all that, he wants to honor Sarah and Mike’s wishes, he wants to keep the last bit of his best friends close to himself, but how is he supposed to do that? He’s a wreck and his only support is Jake, who despite all this never made any promises or commitment declarations about their relationship. The Navy might let him leave based on special circumstances, but finding a job in any industry that would allow him to take care of a baby on his own would be a miracle — and there’s no one he could leave Daisy with, if they send him somewhere with his squadron.

And Jake comes back from the base that evening and finds him a mess, and sure enough, solution to all this is simple enough to him — he will move in, permanently, and help Bradley take care of Daisy and take care of her once Bradley starts getting deployed again.

What if they deploy us at the same time? We can’t just refuse, it’s not going to work, because while Bradley wants to believe this is an option, it really isn’t. Even if he felt comfortable with putting so much on Jake, it just wasn’t a viable option — if they both were away, the same problems would arose. Jake had no family, either, got disowned years and years ago, and even if Bradley, somehow, felt comfortable with reconnecting with his own family, he wasn’t quite sure if he could just trust them with Daisy straight away.

Well, I’ve got this crazy idea that might just work, is all Jake says, Give me a few days.

And the life goes on for those few days until one evening Jake comes back from work an hour later than usual and sits down next to Bradley on the couch, waits until he finishes feeding Daisy her bottle and she takes a little nap when he rocks her in his arms — and he shows Bradley a set of generic wedding rings and filled marriage licence application.

Married couples can’t be deployed together.

I can’t ask that of you.

Good thing you aren’t asking, then — I’m offerin’

Because, in truth, Jake knew he was in it for the long run for months now. He was going to pace it, just because Bradley clearly was a bit slow with those things and had a lot of baggage that he wasn’t as keen to share as Jake had been with his own.

So they get married, formally. Bradley accepts the custody and adopts Daisy and sure enough, they both spent some time away on adoption leave, getting used to things. It doesn’t make it all okay, but it makes it all easier, the burden to bear falling on two sets of shoulders instead of one.

At first, they don’t even mention the whole marriage thing, but as things go on, the word husband comes up in their lives more and more often — people shut up easier when it’s a husband and not a partner — and as the years go on, it feels like breathing, calling each other husbands. They might have married for one reason only, but the marriage feels more and more genuine with the years spent together piling up.

Daisy turns five when they both get called back to Top Gun at the same time.

[voxslays]

CLOSE TO YOU — THE SALESMAN

PART FOUR — NOT SPECIAL PAIRINGS: The Salesman (Gong Yoo) x Reader. WARNINGS: Mentions of kidnapping (sort of), Reader is mentioned to be a foreigner (not stated from where), not proofread, possibly OOC... A/N: Damn im writing these quickly. I’m trying to pace it well, but I think I’m failing in that department lol…but, I also plan to have no more than thirty(ish) parts/chapters.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Just great.”

Now you were stuck by yourself, in this mangy pink motel room with someone who played Ddakji and sent innocent people to their deaths for a living. Lovely. “So what’s your name?” You ask, ‘gently’ prodding. The recruiter chuckles. “Why don’t we play a game, and if you win, you can find out.” He smirks. You give him a small, fake smile. “And if I lose?”

“You are in debt to me.” He smiles. You laugh out loud. You couldn’t help yourself. Just who did this guy think he is? “You’re funny.” You say through a fit of giggles, the silence around you deafening. The enigmatic salesman studying you in an unnerving way. “Why don’t we play a different game?” You ask, gently cupping his face. The salesman lets out a small hum, telling you to continue.

“How about you tell me where the island is, and I don’t kill you.” You smirk. “Nice try miss.” Your smile instantly drops. “But I don’t give anything out for free.” You scream in frustration. “Why won’t you just cooperate!?” The ravenette lifts up the sleeve on his unshackled hand, revealing a watch. “It hasn’t even been five minutes since your friends left, and you’re already this worked up?”

“Listen here, asshole.” You utter lowly, lunging forward to grab his perfectly ironed, white collar. “Your ‘organization’ has probably already replaced you—so why are you still so loyal to them?” The salesman glares (the first time you’ve seen him do anything but smile), as you continue on, letting him go. “You’re pathetic.” You spit.

“And your friends? They left you here because you’re too weak to help them.” He pauses, his eyes sizing you up. “You may not be the same trash that Gi-hun once was—but you’re not much better.” He chides, his voice filled with a cunning malice.

“You’re weak.”

…

Was fighting with this moron even worth it? He knew how to exploit your feelings, didn’t he? He was doing it right now. Maybe it would be best to just leave him be and come back in the morning. Maybe then, you could start fresh, your emotions out of the way. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” You breathe out, stepping away from the bathtub. You turn towards the stained glass door, before he called out to you one last time.

“Before you go, miss, I’ll have you admit one thing.” You didn’t bother to turn, your hand still placed firmly on the cool metal handle. “You’re just like everyone else. You’re not special.” You quickly open the glass door, stepping outside—before slamming it harshly, the pressure enough to slightly crack the glass. Good thing Gi-hun owned the motel. He wouldn’t be mad at you. Would he?

You pushed your intrusive thoughts to the back of your mind as you step out of the room, walking down the long hall to room ‘220’. You pull out the bronze key. It had a heart engraved into the center of the handle. You pushed it into the lock and easily pulled open the door. Walking in, you lazily tossed yourself onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of your day clothes.

As you tuck yourself into bed that night, you can’t help but remember the salesman’s words. YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL. Was that really true? You had always strived to be a good person, helping out your community. You had gotten good grades in school, attending university like your parents wanted…yet…maybe what he said was true.

Maybe you weren’t special.

TAGLIST: @scuzmunkie @iloveinhodaeho @devilishdelirium @muchwita @ang3lgvts

[kedsandtubesocks]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write more MLB Professional Joel !!! It was such a good read and it makes me want more

You're one of the very few who write really fun AU's for him, and it has me absolutely addicted

Dear anon thanks so much I appreciate you!! And since you asked so nicely… let’s enjoy some more baseball Joel yeah?

—

Game Changer - Spring Training

MLB pitcher!Joel Miller x F!Reader

warnings: 18+ only dbf!Joel, allusions to smut, secret relationship things, brief moments of panic

word count: 1.2k

Arizona’s desert holds a surprising charm to it. You’re even more amused that the city’s name fits it so well.

Surprise, Arizona is where the Texas Rangers would be staying for spring training.

You managed to get ahead of all the work you can, moved a few things around schedule wise, then came up with an easy lie for your parents when they asked curious as to why you were heading to Arizona for a four day weekend.

Because the reason why you’re here walks out from the clubhouse to warm up looking handsome as ever in his training camp uniform.

“Joel! Joel!” The crowd erupts in cheers seeing him, and a wide smile breaks over your face.

You’re thankful fans are able to watch from the fencing around the field. It’s heartwarming and endearing seeing how many people are here to watch the team train. Now you suppose you’re one of those devoted baseball fans now, or mainly, just a Joel fan.

He’s in top form today. Seeing his body crouch up in the windup then fling the ball with such force never ceases to impress you, keep you in awe of the man you adore so much.

It boggles your mind a bit realizing a new season is starting. Because, in theory, you’re coming up on a year of being with Joel.

One of the outfielder’s, Joel’s closest friend on the team, spots you and happily waves making you grin. A lot of the team recognizes you now. They know you’re with Joel, and you’ve even tagged along to a few team dinners now.

Even Ellie and Sarah know about you and him.

Of course the last to not know, the ones still kept in the dark, are your parents… specifically your dad.

Your mom, with her scary sixth sense, has noticed something is up. Accidentally you’ve let it slip you’re seeing someone casually. But that’s the extent of it.

Because you wouldn’t call traveling across states to be with Joel casual. Especially when he paid for your flight ticket, even booked your hotel room to make sure you were comfortable and close to the ranch.

One day, you’ll be brave and tell them. Then hope your dad doesn’t try to kill you or Joel. But now’s not the time to think about that.

The weather is beautiful today. You soak in the sun and soft breeze, enjoying watching Joel Miller be the outlaw cowboy pitcher he is. His curveball is getting better.

There’s a new rookie reliever pitcher the Rangers drafted. Joel immediately has stepped into fatherly parental mode showing different ways to grip the ball. The kid hangs off his every word and follows Joel around like a puppy. It’s rather cute.

Cheers come off to the side of the fence. You glance over to see someone with a phone telling everyone to wave, urging them to chant ‘Let’s Go Rangers!’

Ignoring it, you return to watching Joel.

Eventually lunch break arrives. Joel sends you a text urging you to go relax at the hotel.

Might be a long day at practice baby go enjoy the room

You’ve been wanting to get some reading done, and lounging on the gorgeous hotel room balcony does seem tempting.

Appreciating that Joel understands, you head back to the hotel.

You’re also thankful housekeeping came by to fix the beds. Your face feels like it’s on fire just thinking of the mess you and Joel left the room in this morning.

It’s been a month since you last physically saw him. The way you and him fucked felt raw, tasting of something primal, like you were trying to consume each other for the lost time.

Now seeing a few of Joel’s things here makes your heart melt. His jacket slung on the chair, his toothbrush thrown against yours, his iPad charging on the table.

He’s still mainly staying at the hotel with the team, but you’re grateful he’s snuck away to stay here for a few nights already.

Curling up with your book on the hotel balcony with the lovely Arizona weather creates a dreamy afternoon you happily sink into.

Then your phone chimes off. A text from your mom.

It’s a picture from Instagram.

Specifically the Texas Ranger’s Instagram.

And you’re in the background clear as day, easy to spot.

So…what are you doing at spring training?

Your heart drops. Terror floods into you an unseating wave that draws you under.

Everything becomes muffled and heightened all at once.

Immediately a lie conjures itself up so fast as you text back.

Yeah, Alex had work to do and thought I’d swing by to check out the team and say hi to Joel

Alex, your best friend, thankfully told you to use her as a lie.

Your mom doesn’t reply back for a while, and your stare in pure dreaded silence waiting to see any sign of life.

The chime comes, and your hands shake checking your phone.

Ok have fun

The reply is simple, diffuses the situation. Yet it doesn’t stop the fear pumping through you.

Joel’s contact brings your phone to life, and you don’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Hi, honey.” He greets casual and exhausted. “Done for the day, so I’m headin’ back. Y’wanna start talkin’ dinner?”

“I think my parents know about us.” You blurt.

“Wait, what?” His voice trips over itself.

He urges you to take a breath and tell him everything.

So you do. You tell him about the Instagram photo, the text…

He sighs weary, deeply tired, and you feel guilty now for rushing him with this.

“I’m sorry.” You quickly scramble out.

You’re sorry for being here, sorry for maybe accidentally revealing yourself to your parents, for getting so worked up over this -

Joel says your name, calm and steady.

The door clicks with the room key. Before you realize it, your favorite pitcher walks through the door.

Immediately you rush towards him. In a few steps he’s gathering you in his warm arms, and nothing else matters.

In this carved out space, it’s just him and you holding each other tight.

“I don’t think ya need to worry, honey.” He reassures, rubbing your back softly. “If they knew, ‘specially if your dad knew, no doubt they’d be fuckin’ calling me already.”

That’s true.

A part of you is reassured, yet…

Being in his arms, you realize this is where you want your future.

And something deep inside now aches to have your parents find out. You want to stop hiding Joel, want to stop hiding this. You aren’t ashamed of him. If anything, you’re unbelievably proud of him and want to keep him in your life for as long as you can.

A dangerous thought flutters in your mind. Maybe you should call your mom back and tell her the truth.

“When you get nervous for a game,” you suddenly ask Joel. “How do you get over it?”

A soft hum, a rumble of a deep thought radiates from his warm chest, and it's strangely soothing.

“Guess once I get on the mound, it all just melts away. Get reminded of why I do this, why it’s all worth it. Nerves and all.” He mutters.

You pull away from Joel’s embrace for a moment to glance at him. He’s still sweaty from practice and smells vaguely of sunlight and the field’s dust. But he’s beautiful, and you want him to be yours in every way.

He matters in so many ways it feels like your world now is molded to him; you can’t think of a day without him.

You place a soft kiss on his lips and realize how he’s worth the nerves and all.

Maybe even more than that.

So you think… it might be time for you to go up to bat for your pitcher.

[cece693]

As You Are

pairing: will graham x male reader tags: reader can be envisioned as hannibal, just a cute one-shot I thought about while looking at season 2 will, he really had a whole ass makeover for his man, and I don't disagree :)

You’ve never been one to tone things down. Even on your laziest days, you exude a poised elegance that might make others question whether or not you had just stepped off a runway. Crisp trousers, perfectly tailored shirts, the occasional dramatic coat—your reflection in any mirror radiates quiet confidence, your style as precise and deliberate as a well-curated art piece.

Will Graham, your partner, appreciates that about you—at least, you always believed he did. After all, his world is one of details and subtleties, the minutiae that others overlook but that he cannot ignore. It’s partly why he fell in love with you in the first place: your presence is a bold, comforting light against the often dark corridors of his mind.

But lately, something has changed.

It starts small: a new bottle of expensive cologne on the bathroom counter, a neatly pressed button-up shirt you’ve never seen before. At first, you chalk it up to Will wanting to experiment. Everyone deserves the chance to switch things up every now and then. But as days turn into weeks, the shift intensifies. You notice Will meticulously combing his hair in the mornings until every strand lies perfectly in place. His usual scruffy beard is now trimmed with almost surgical precision. He steers away from his beloved flannels, opting instead for slim-fit sweaters and stylish jeans that look expensive and out of place in his closet. His hesitant eyes dart around you, as if searching for approval.

And while you appreciate the effort, there’s a mounting worry in the back of your mind: This isn’t Will. At least, not the Will who would stride into the kitchen barefoot, wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants that revealed a soft vulnerability you found achingly beautiful.

One quiet afternoon, you’re both in the living room. Will is seated on the couch, fiddling with the collar of yet another crisp shirt. You watch as his shoulders tense, the small furrow in his brow betraying some hidden worry. “Is something on your mind?” you ask softly.

He glances up, surprise flickering across his face, as though he forgot you were there. “No,” he says at first, too quickly. When you keep your gaze on him, patient and unwavering, he sighs. “Yes. I’m just…I don’t know, I feel like I should try harder.”

Your brow furrows. “Try harder at what?”

His eyes dart away. “At looking nice. Being the kind of partner you deserve.”

You let his words sink in. For a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. For you, Will had always been the standard of softness and genuineness. No illusions. No artificial shine. You love him for his earnest nature, his gentle intelligence, his compassion. “What makes you think,” you begin carefully, “that the way you’ve always been isn’t already more than enough?”

Will exhales through his nose, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Look at you.” There’s a small shrug, like he’s embarrassed to even say it. “You always look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine—effortlessly stylish. When I’m next to you, I just…I feel like I should try not to be an eyesore.”

There’s a pang in your chest, tenderness for the man who so often sees the worst parts of the world—and sometimes sees the worst in himself, too. You stand from the armchair and make your way over, sitting beside Will. Without hesitation, you take his hands in yours. “Will,” you say quietly, “you are not an eyesore. You never have been.” He searches your face for any sign of dishonesty and finds none.

“That’s kind of you,” he mumbles, “but I see how people look at us—how they look at you.”

“So what?” You tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Let them look. I don’t dress well or groom myself meticulously because I think I have to be perfect for you. It’s just part of who I am, and I enjoy it. You—” you press a hand against his cheek gently, your thumb grazing the delicate stubble “—are perfect for me as you are. I don’t want you to feel like you have to change just because I dress this way.”

Will swallows. His gaze drops to your lips, then lingers on your eyes. “I guess I just didn’t want you to feel like I was letting you down or not matching you in any way.”

You can’t help but chuckle softly. “You could dress in a potato sack, and I’d still think you were the most compelling man in any room.” You brush your thumb across his cheekbone. “Your intelligence, your kindness, the way you notice when I’m feeling off even before I do—that’s the Will Graham I love. A tailored shirt doesn’t change what’s already here.”

His breath shudders as he releases tension he’s been holding onto for weeks—maybe longer. You shift closer, pressing your forehead to his. A subtle wave of relief seems to wash over him, though you can still sense some hesitation.

“If you enjoy dressing up,” you say, “then by all means, do it for yourself. But don’t do it because you think I need more from you. I promise, I don’t. I never did.”

Over the next few days, the tension in Will’s brow subsides. He hasn’t tossed out the new clothes—he keeps them for special occasions, or for days he does feel like dressing up. But he also goes back to his beloved flannels, the comfortable jeans, the no-fuss hair that curls just above his ears. He’s not putting on airs anymore. And whenever he does slip into a tailored sweater, it’s not born of insecurity—he’s choosing to do it. He still takes care with his appearance, but it’s more authentic, more him.

And each time you catch him in moments like that—hair slightly mussed from his morning shower, wearing clothes that might be a touch mismatched—you can’t help but grin with love and relief. Because that is the Will you adore, the Will who does not need to change, the Will who has your heart and will keep it, forever, exactly as he is.

[classfiedyapper]

LADS MEN SEEING YOU IN TRADITIONAL WEAR FOR THE FIRST TIME (Desi Version Pt.1)

(Content under the cut cause I am gonna ramble first😭)

SFW, fluff, mildly suggestive I think?

AN: guys!!!! I am crying the reaction for my last head cannon post was very overwhelming I was expecting like 5 notes and maybe 2 re blogs but damn you guys showed me so much love so I felt like it was my responsibility to pay back for such kindness, so here it is.

Also asks are open for those who want to request something, it doesn't have to be Desi centric anything you want, xx.

Ps. The outfits described are inspired by the ones I have owned lol. (Sorry got in too depth of the details you can skip thats)

Ps. Part two will be out in two days max.

Xavier

It wasn't everyday you choose to dress up in your traditional wear, not because it wasn't something you wanted it was only because there weren't that many occasions.

So, when one of you closes cousin got hitched you knew you were going to go all out, because hey! What is a Desi event, if not a better version of Met Gala.

Xavier was quite excited to see you too mostly because you would not stop buzzing about the saree you had ordered from the boutique , every time you two met since the day you ordered it, you couldn't keep your mouth shut, you chose not to show him anything or tell him the color since you wanted to see a raw reaction.

The day arrived quickly you waited for Xavier to arrive at the venue since you had went to the brides home and got ready there and went with her to the venue, as much as Xavier wanted to go with you as he felt a but awkward, he understood that right now you needed to be with your girl.

One of your other cousin escort him inside the venue as he was now also a cherished member of the family and it wasn't long when Xavier's eyes, that somehow were a little too good at spotting you no matter the crowd, fell on you and he held his breath, completely and utterly stunned.

There you stand in all your glory with a shimmering rose-gold saree that draped gracefully around you. The blouse, fitted and elegant, had delicate embroidery along the sleeves and the saree’s border was adorned with intricate silver embellishments, glinting softly like scattered stars. It hugged your frame, flowing down to the floor in smooth, silky folds. Bangles jingled on your wrists, and a golden pendant rested against collarbone beautiful and henna design on your hand and the hair up do decorated with with white flowers, completing the timeless, ethereal look. Xavier's heart was thumping loud, he gave you a once over. You looked nothing less like royalty. Some he would willingly bow his head in front of and be honored.

"Xavier!" You called out rushing towards him, or well trying too, and pulled him in an embrace and his arms wrap around you almost dropping the gift he had brought with him, catching a few look from the aunties but you did not care one bit, you had been separated far too long. "Xavier I was waiting- uh Xavier?" You pulled away from the hug to look at him only to be met with his piercing sapphire gaze "why would you deprive me of such look, my star." he almost sound offended at the fact you never graced his eyes with such astounding beauty before.

Regardless of his accusations you chuckled "are you trying to say that I look pretty?" You say your head tilted.

Xavier shakes his head with a sigh "pretty is such small word, I don't think that's how I will describe it" he says, he reaches out touch the the strand of hair that you meticulously left into curls, they wrap around his finger and Xavier leans down to kiss it since he couldn't kiss your face like he wanted, worried he might ruin the makeup. Mind full of the fact you must have spend good chunk of time and effort to perfect it for the event.

"Then how would you describe it" you poke, there was no way you would let him go, after all you wanted to look pretty for him too.

Xavier's loving gaze intensified into something more lust full "how about I show you instead my little star" he says looking down at your neck line, shamelessly peeking at cleavage and spoke "is there a room-ow" he was cut off, you pinched his arm with a flustered face "Xavier! The event haven't even started and you are trying to ruin my look" you whisper yell at him and he only smirked. "What can I say my little star, the way you look right now I will not be keeping my hands of you" Xavier declares as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and you roll your eyes "as if you ever keep your hands off me" you say and he just shrugged "I will touch what is right fully mine, you can not stop me" he says kissing the crown of your head, he could feel the pout forming on your lips. " can't you compliment me normally for once, xavy?"

His lips quirked up in smile, his hand finally moved from your waist, now holding your hand as he brings it up to his face placing gentle kiss on the knuckle, peeking at his name on your wrist, that made him much more smug "you look gorgeous my love" he kisses the fingers "graceful" another kiss, this time on the wrist right by his name "elegant and-" he takes deep breath before continuing "breathtaking"

A blush crept up your cheek and you giggled, now satisfied and you opened up your mouth to say something when one aunty who was turning green with envy, decided to interrupt "oh you two, the the function is about start move along" she scolds, Xavier turns to her his face contorted in annoyance, he looks back at you and you shook your head the turn to the lady "we will be right there, let's go Xavier!" With one last look you both left the woman alone.

And for the rest of the night Xavier followed you around holding your anchal, making sure no one bothers you in any sort of way.

Zayne

Black on black is zaynes favorite combination for most of the occasions, and even now after you had infiltrated his wardrobe and his life, he still had lots of outfit in that color code. It was your first time wearing something like this since ever since you came here to linkon it was hard to find traditional wear, zayne had it custom made it for you by a well known boutique owner, and you thought it was time to finally wear it and show it to him.

So, for tonight's hospital banquet you decided to follow that, you figured that's what he will show up in black on black again so might as well match together like the power couple you are.

So you picked out the brand new qameez suit, knowing zayne he would be nagging you in the next 5 minutes since that's when they had planned to leave the house. You picked up the pace, completing the light gold eye makeup with prominent eyeliner, stepping back you examined yourself from head to toe, feeling pretty confident in your look.

It was a simple yet stylish black outfit, consisting of a long, straight-cut qameez with subtle sequin embroidery scattered across the fabric, the shimmers under the warm light. The qameez had a round neckline and sheer, full-length sleeves with delicate patterns that added a soft texture to the otherwise plain design. Underneath, it had a matching black shalwar falling just above the ankles.

A lightweight black dupatta, its edges adorned with embroidered motifs that mirrored the design on her qameez. A small, round white clutch with a beaded pattern, which stood out against the dark tones of the attire. You add matching jhumkas.

Just then your Mr.husband called out "we are late darling" making you roll your eyes out "five more minutes!" Calling back and leaned over the counter and begin to apply a deep shade of red that looked confident and classy kind of sexy with over all look.

Zayne walked in cleaning his glasses, putting them on with practiced ease "Dear we were suppose to-" his words were caught in his throats as he looks at you "oh.." He unconsciously steps towards you while you were still applying the red lipstick adding a little bit of a gloss on top if it, your eyes moved up to look at him through the reflection "hmm?" Before going right back to task at hand, lightly smacking your lips making sure nothing was out of line.

Zayne clears his throat "nothing, its just....I was aware you'd be looking beautiful in this attire but I what I did not expect you to look this...ravishing" he breaths out. In an instant could feel swarm of butterflies creating havoc in your tummy "mhm? Ravishing? Dr. Zayne this is a modest outfit I was suppose to look modest and classy" you couldn't help but laugh at the iron as you turn to face only to meet his smoldering gaze that you were still somehow not used and got easily flustered.

He steps closer only couple feet away from you, your back pressed on the counter. "I know I am well aware, however, its not the dress my love" he holds your chin making you look up at him l, his eyes on your redden lip "its you who is ravishing" he says as he smirks, his pointy canine on display.

And just like that something in you short circuited, stuttering incoherently you tried to shoo him off saying you needed to find your heels, but he remain firm. "I got you something" he says in his breathy tone opening the jacket of his coat and fishing out two pair of gajrays, that he wordlessly puts on you and you had the biggest smile on your face that was until you noticed he was wearing grey and brown suit instead. Zayne notices your brows knit together and he knew what was coming, you going on a rampage "zaynie, I thought you were going to wear black you always wear black all the time and so I wore black too I told you I was gonna wear the black attire you got, and so you should have gotten the hint to wear black too instead you wear grey and fricken brown I mean we were suppose to look like power couple tonight mmf-" he cuts you off, a finger pressed on the plush of your lips "no need to be fussy I'll go change for you, begum" and just like that you were melted, making his smirk bigger, tsk its too damn easy now for him. You nod and he removes his finger, red stain of your lips on his finger that he licks off making you blush harder "okay okay go now" you says pushing him out not wanting to look at his smug face because damn it this man had you eating out of his palm at times.

And you know what? You wouldn't have it any other way.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been screaming-crying-throwing up, begging on the floor, for you to wear a lehnga for him. He had saw you once scrolling through your Pinterest looking at pretty lehnga and was hit with tremendous force of inspiration. Rafayel had painted you, a lot, like way over the normal amount should be. In many ways and using different color hues and settings, they were all so stunning, you loved them all so much and honestly it was such and ego boost every time he showed his painting of you, but he always complained about not being able to capture your true beauty. That was until he saw you looking at the Pinterest and realized he hadn't seen you in your traditional wear ever, let alone paint you in it, and right after that day he had been on your case to wear it for you.

Its not that you didnt want to wear it was just that you couldn't find one. When you made the mistake of telling him that you found him on the phone with none other then The Zainab Chotani. You knew you had to intervene. You told him you will find a dress on your own but it was too late he had placed the order one of the elites of south Asian fashion because of course his darling couldn't have anything less then that.

"Cutieeeee how much longerrrr?" Rafayel whines from outside the locked room, you had strictly told him not to enter or he will be getting his ass kicked, as protest rafayel had camped outside, sitting by the door, waiting.

"Just a little longer this stupid fricken teeka, is NOT fixing" you reply to him, it was taking long yes because your beloved lemurian had ordered you a Bridal lehnga. you could here shuffling outside followed by loud knocking "then open the door and let me in I'll help" the impatient artist says but you you wouldn't let him nuh uh. "Rafayel I am almost done please just go to the studio I'll be there damn!" You exasperated "fine...always so mean to me" he mumbles and steps back going back to the studio.

Once you were ready you took a deep breath and leave the room. She made her way to the studio and sees him sitting on the stool with a big canvas in front of him, he was sulking ofcourse.

"Rafayel....I am here" she says and he turns too look at you excitement brimming his eyes but that soon turned into awe.

You wore a stunning sky-blue bridal lehenga, intricately embroidered with shimmering silver and gold threadwork. When you twirl the lehenga flared gracefully like gentle waves of the sea, detailed patterns across the skirt, which caught the light with every movement. The fitted blouse was equally adorned with embellishments, a modest neckline and long sleeves that added an elegant touch.

Draped over one shoulder was a rich maroon velvet shawl, contrasting beautifully with the cool blue tones of her outfit. The shawl was bordered with elaborate gold embroidery and scalloped edges, giving it a regal finish. Another lighter blue dupatta, matching the lehenga, was delicately placed over her head.

Her jewelry was traditional and elaborate, a maang tikka rested on her forehead, a teardrop-shaped pendant. She wore a choker necklace layered with cascading strands of pearls a visible ode to his lemurian heritage, adding depth and luxury to her look. Her hands were adorned with intricate henna designs, enhancing the overall bridal look.

And rafayel....well poor guy had fallen from his stool, he had tried to get up very quickly and tripped. "Raffy!" You tried to approach him but he was on his feet already moving towards you "I am fine I am okay, its just you....wow" he breaths his hand reaching out barely touch her face, an artist admiring a masterpiece, scared to ruin it. "You like it?" You ask holding his hand leaning onto his touch. "I love it" he replies in a reverent tone.

Rafayel holds both of your hands kissing each of them, the action making you blush a crimson shade, turning your fave away "don't" he warns "let me admire you" he says as you turn back to him. Rafayel drops to his knees feeling like thats how he should be, where he should be. "Maybe I should just marry you now, its been too.damn.long" he says vulnerability lacing his voice.

The thought made you giddy and you pinch his cheek "well i am in a bridal lehnga, let's just do it" you says and he smirks getting up from his spot and aiming straight to get his coat "let me find my shoes and we are done" he says making you giggle "you know I am joking you silly fish" you follow him and soft sound of your Bengals echoes. Rafayel turns to you and pout "tsk now that's just mean, but whatever you say cutie, just know I will not be waiting long" he says and make you roll your eyes at him again until you see him going over his canvas and removing it

"Wait weren't you going to paint me?"

"I am, its just this canvas isn't big enough to capture what I have in mind" rafayel smirks.

And this is basically the story behind his mural of you in the living room, you with your lehnga all spread out and him on with his head on your lap.

[lsunstreakerl]

my prompt has been extremely fulfilled but im just putting this out in the universe… maxiel or lestappen, with a Significant age difference where max is inexperienced, like a shy blushing type. and oop, daddy kink unlocked…. 🙂‍↕️

obviously, again, this has gotten out of hand. in the name of the father, the son, and the holy coldplums, I gift to you all the reason for my relative radio silence: maxiel corporate boytoy.

I've got. hmmmm. about 8k of it written at the moment, so I'm posting the first few chunks for you all to read. here is 2.5k of exposition, alternating POV's. HI: kink prompt. obviously. explicit content ahead.

pairings: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen

relevant heads up: power imbalance, age difference, work environment that would make an HR department cry. dirtbag daniel (somewhat), inexperienced max.

Daniel doesn't really keep up with the interns- supposedly he's been observing them all year, narrowing them down the best ones, the perfect fit for the company.

In reality, he pays them no mind and lets the supervisors tell him who they want. It's a good system, and it hasn't failed him yet.

He's walking with Blake down across the loft portion of the fourth floor- he can see down across the glass at some of the other levels, and it still blows his mind sometimes that everyone he can see works for him.

Blake is nattering on about the next fiscal year's budget- Daniel will pay attention to it when the paperwork is on his desk, and not a moment sooner. His eyes are bouncing around, landing on familiar and unfamiliar faces, older and experienced supervisors training the young blood.

His attention snags. There's someone across the walkway, half leaning over a desk and gesturing at something on a monitor. Daniel is more distracted at the way his slacks fit, hugging his thighs and narrowing into a waist that Daniel immediately wants to take a bite out of.

He's not sure when they started hiring pornstars.

"Blake- who is that? Over by Scarlett's desk."

Blake looks confused for a moment before his face lights up in recognition.

"Oh! That's Max- he's one of the interns for the year, and he's really good on the numbers end- kid's got a real solid brain in him. I was actually hoping to talk to you about him- he's my favorite intern I've ever had in the department, and I think he'd be really good full time."

Daniel thinks he'd be really good bent over the desk. All the way.

"Yeah, for sure man. Well bring him on board."

"Uh, Dan?"

Daniel's still walking, but he's pivoted his course, making his way over to Scarlett's desk. She and Max have their heads together- probably trying to actually do Daniel's company some good, honest work.

Daniel doesn't care.

There's more details as Daniel gets closer- Max has blonde hair, just on the side of too short around the back of his head, slightly longer at the top. It's gelled, which- they can fix that. If the women in the company don't break him of the habit, Daniel will just change the dress code.

His shoulders are broad under the white button up, which really adds to the waist thing he's got going on- Daniel wants to wrap his hands around him, see if it feels as perfect as it looks.

He's definitely not complaining about his back view though- Max has a cute ass. Daniel wants to put teeth marks in it.

Scarlett notices them approaching, straightening up.

"Daniel! Blake! This is Max, our finance and accounting intern for the year. Max, this is Daniel- you should know who he is, and Blake- you should also know who he is."

Max spins around, and Daniel wants to hire him on the spot. He's got a unique face- European of some kind, probably. He also has a perfect set of DSL's.

Max smiles, eyes scrunching up into little crescents. There's a freckle on his lip.

"Hello! Mr. Friend, it is of course nice to meet you again. It is nice to meet you as well, Mr. Ricciardo."

Oh, he has a lisp. They're definitely keeping him.

"Just Blake is fine, Max. Dan over here prefers his first name too- everything else is too stuffy. We're not that kind of workplace."

Daniel reaches out to shake Max's hand- he has long fingers, blunt squared off nails. No jewelry, and most importantly- no ring.

He flashes Max his best smile, and the kid goes a bit red, cheeks flushing as his eyes dart away for a moment.

Bingo. Point for Daniel.

Daniel likes the way he blushes, wonders how deep it can get, how far it can go.

"So Max- how do ya like working for the company?"

Daniel keeps his voice light, but his eyes are locked on Max. To his credit, Max doesn't look away again, holds his gaze as he starts talking.

"It is very nice! The teamwork is helpful, and everyone has been kind."

He talks with his hands, which reminds Daniel of the Italian side of his family- although with the accent, Max has got to be some kind of Northern European.

"Glad to hear it, Maxy."

Ding ding! Another point for Daniel.

Max goes red, stuttering over his words for a moment. Daniel drinks it in, the way Max is completely derailed, just at the nickname. He's cute.

Daniel gives him another smile as he starts walking away again- and then a lightning quick wink, just to see the way Max blinks, like a deer in headlights.

Blake lets them get out of earshot before he starts complaining.

"Dan, mate- do not fuck my intern, please. I want him to stick around."

Daniel's grinning, hands in his pockets. This day is going great.

"Relax, Blake. I'm not going to fuck your intern."

Blake eyes him suspiciously.

"Really? Because those are kind of your textbook steps on the way to getting laid."

Daniel whistles, thinking about the rest of the day. He'll cater lunch to the finance department, as a little treat. Make up some shit about good budgeting.

"I'm going to fuck my employee. There's a difference."

Blake stops in his tracks for a moment.

"Dan. You cannot seriously tell me you're going to poach one of the brightest minds to come through my department to get your dick wet man, come on."

Daniel shrugs.

"I'll let you give him some busywork- not too much though, I'll be keeping him occupied."

Blake rolls his eyes.

"Busy on his knees, maybe."

Daniel snaps his fingers, shooting him finger guns. This is why he likes Blake- he gets him.

"Exactly! I'm buying your department lunch, what do you guys like?"

"Oh sweet- there's this Greek place a couple blocks over-"

------

None of the other interns even stood a chance- Max is unofficially hired four months before the end of the internship period.

It doesn't look as biased as Daniel had wondered- Max really does stand out from the other interns in terms of the quality of his work, and he gets along well with the team.

It would be a shame Daniel isn't actually interested in that from him, if not for the way that he's just so cute. Daniel's a bit hedonistic, believes in having fun, and Max definitely looks like fun.

He's gone ahead and let Blake handle telling Max about his responsibilities shift- he's got some bullshit analytics job Daniel hadn't even known they had. The important thing is that it requires him to visit Daniel often. He normally hates being interrupted, but this is one he won't mind, not if it means getting to tease Max in the relative privacy of his office.

Now he just has to wait.

------

Max carefully flicks through his printed report. He's nervous- everyone has said Daniel is nice, but he also has a famous hatred for paperwork, and Max is about to dump some on his desk. He'd seemed friendly enough in the few moments he'd talked to Max, even if Max had thoroughly embarrassed himself, stumbling over his words and losing his train of thought.

He knows he's checked for typos a million times, but this final check is the most important. The new responsibilities on Max's plate aren't quite what he was doing before, but he's up for the challenge.

He checks the last page, satisfied, before tugging at the end of his shirt sleeves, hopes he looks presentable enough to be going to the top floor. He's never really gone higher than six- certainly has never had a need to go to eight, where Daniel's office is.

The elevator ride is quick, and Max is on the eighth floor sooner than he'd like.

He passes Blake's office on his way to Daniel's, who gives him a weird little half salute- odd, but most CFO's are.

Daniel's door is closed. Max had really been hoping it would be open- having to knock is stressing him out. He's not sure if Daniel is in a meeting, or has guests, or anything.

Surely his report can't be this important. Technically, his report should be able to go to Blake, but- that's none of Max's business.

He breathes out slow before he raises his fist and knocks, knuckles rapping firmly against the door.

There's a moment of silence during which Max assumes he's about to be fired- before he's even officially hired on, which would surely be some kind of office record.

"Come in."

Daniel's voice is clear, and Max pushes the door open, slips inside. Daniel is leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossed over his other knee. His suit jacket is open, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone, showcasing his neck- long golden skin, the kind of tan Max could never manage.

"Hey, Maxy. Whatcha got for me?"

Max wills his fingers not to shake as he steps forward, shoes quiet in the plush flooring of Daniel's rug.

"I have- from the last quarter, the missing earnings report."

Daniel's eyes are... not on Max's face. He hopes he hasn't somehow spilled something on himself.

"Yeah?"

Max nods.

Daniel moves his mouse, minimizes his monitor screens before moving a stack of binders off of the side of his desk.

"Sit, tell me about it."

Max blinks, confused. There's no chair across from Daniel's desk- and he doesn't think he's being asked to sit on the floor.

"Sit..?"

Daniel nods at the space he's cleared on the desk, and Max's heart jumps into his throat- it feels inappropriate somehow, but Daniel is saying it's okay, so-

He's not quite tall enough, has to do a little hop braced on his hand to get up there, and one of Daniel's hands is hovering near his waist- maybe in case he falls.

Max clears his throat, tries to ignore the heat in his face.

"So, the materials department, and their quarterly budget-"

------

Daniel is very pleased with himself. Sure, Blake looks annoyed every time he has to bring his own chair with him to talk to Daniel, but it's a small price to pay for what Daniel gets in return.

He's been carefully inching the clear space on the desk closer to him- Max is so delightfully nervous about sitting on his desk, even two weeks after he'd made him do it the first time.

Daniel is taking things slow with him- slower than he normally would, but that's because he's been accused of playing with his food.

He can't help it- Max is too cute. The way he's just slightly too short, has to do a little hop, the way he squeezes his thighs together to try not to take up space- Daniel wants to take a bite out of him.

He's being patient.

It's especially delicate today- the space Daniel has cleared, the only available space on the desk- it's practically right in front of Daniel. He has his chair scooted back a bit, so that Max won't feel like he's directly in his lap, but- he might as well be.

He's looking forward to it, and if he's lucky Max will really go pink. Surely he notices when he's bright red, but he always powers through anyways.

Blake walks into his office, doesn't bother knocking- everyone else knows Daniel doesn't care for it, but he likes when Max does it.

He sighs, leaning his hip against the desk.

"Would you just fuck him already, please? He's a phenomenal worker Dan, I'd like to actually take advantage of that."

Daniel smiles at him.

"What, you don't want to sit on my desk and tell me that?"

Blake rolls his eyes, and he has the expression Daniel knows means he's begging for divine patience.

"You're toying with him, Dan."

Daniel shrugs, twisting a pen between his fingers, spinning it like a drumstick.

"Yeah babe, that's the point. He's cute like that- perfect little toy, I kind of want to wrap him in a bow. But I'm being patient, Blake, I thought you wanted me to work on that?"

Blake snorts, snatching the pen from Daniel's fingers.

"I meant that in terms of company growth and you know it. But I'll keep the ribbon thing in mind for the office Christmas party, how's that?"

"You do love me!"

------

Max straightens his stack of papers. He's got another report ready, and he's splashed cold water on his face, a reminder that Daniel is his boss- his boss boss, the CEO. Just because he's terribly attractive doesn't mean Max gets to drool over him.

Not to mention- he's so busy there's almost never space on the desk, so Max is probably just a passing blip in his day, barely noticeable.

The elevator dings as the doors slide open, and Max gives Blake a small wave as he passes by his office door. He's not sure what's endeared him to Blake, but the CFO treats him somewhat fondly, in a way that's almost demeaning. Max can't figure it out.

Blake waves back anyways, and then Max is knocking on Daniel's door again.

A beat of silence, and then Daniel is calling him in, but he has a finger pressed to his lips when Max slips inside, and Max freezes. There's voices from one of Daniel's monitors, and Max moves back towards the door, only for Daniel to snap his fingers at him.

Max looks back over and Daniel gestures at his desk, moving his mouse for a moment.

"C'mere, it's fine- I'm almost done."

There's not- Max looks for his usual space by the corner, but it's messy again, the only space is along the edge right in the middle, directly in front of Daniel.

Surely Daniel doesn't mean...

Daniel quirks an eyebrow and Max shoves the doubt down, carefully hopping up onto the desk. Daniel's camera doesn't look like it's on, thankfully, but he's afraid to even breathe as they all exchange their goodbyes.

Daniel chimes in with his own, and then he's leaning forward, chest between Max's knees as he reaches past him to fiddle with the speakers, one palm pressing on Max's thigh to support himself.

Max feels the heat of his palm like a brand. He's frozen still- his face has to be bright red, there's no way it isn't. He fights not to squeeze his thighs together, ignores the warmth starting to pool in his gut.

Daniel just wants to talk about quarter reports.

More like listen to Max talk about quarter reports, but the point remains the same.

Daniel gives Max's thigh a little pat as he leans back, grinning at him.

"Sorry about that babe, meeting went long. What do you have for me?"

Max swallows, tries to pull himself back together.

"So I noticed in the fiscal budget for 2016 a few years ago..."

[thefemmefatalexo]

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 17 - Sideline Tension

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: We’re getting there! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 16} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The sound of cleats against pavement, the distant echo of whistles, and the low hum of chatter filled the air as you walked toward the football field beside Toji. The late afternoon sun bathed everything in a golden hue, casting long shadows across the ground.

And now, here you were, strolling side by side, the atmosphere somewhere between comfortable and charged with unspoken tension.

Toji, dressed in his fitted football gear—black compression shirt snug against his torso, emphasizing every sculpted muscle, and his practice shorts hanging loose around his powerful thighs—looked ridiculously good. It pissed you off how effortlessly attractive he was.

“You sure you ain’t gon’ get bored out here?” His voice was lazy, teasing.

You scoffed. “I think I’ll manage.”

He glanced at you, smirking. “Doubt it. I don’t exactly see you as the ‘football fan’ type.”

“I’m not. But you invited me, so…” You trailed off, keeping your expression neutral.

Toji clicked his tongue. “Oh, so if I tell you to do somethin’, you just do it?”

You turned your head to glare at him. “No, dumbass. I just figured I’d come see what the hype is about. Since you act like you’re some football god.”

He chuckled, amused. “Tch. You act like I ain’t.”

“Wow. Humble much?”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Why the fuck would I be humble? I’m good as hell at this shit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

As you reached the field, you noticed a few people glancing your way—mostly girls. Their eyes flickered between you and Toji, some whispering, others just straight-up staring. You pretended not to notice.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Toji murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You shot him a look. “Why would I be shy?”

He smirked. “You tell me.”

Before you could reply, one of his teammates called out to him from the field.

“Aye, Zen’in, quit flirting and get your ass over here!”

Toji clicked his tongue in annoyance but turned to you, walking backward as he smirked. “Sit tight, sweetheart. Try not to fall in love watchin’ me.”

You flipped him off as he jogged away, and he just laughed.

Now alone, you made your way up to the bleachers, settling in with a perfect view of the field.

And goddamn.

Watching Toji play was something else.

The raw athleticism, the power in his movements, the way his muscles flexed and tensed with every sharp pivot and sprint—he made everything look effortless. His control over his body, the precision in his throws, the speed with which he dodged and weaved past defenders, it was undeniable. Even someone like you, who barely gave a shit about football, could see why people hyped him up.

You weren’t the only one staring.

Toji!”

His ex.

She sauntered up to him in her cheer uniform, a full face of makeup despite having no reason to be dressed up at practice. She rested a hand on her hip, tilting her head.

“So, is Coach lettin’ you play again or what?”

Toji barely glanced at her. “Yeah.”

She pouted. “That’s all I get? Not even a hi?”

Toji sighed. “Hi. Bye.”

She huffed, stepping closer. “You been ignoring my texts.”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Toji, c’mon,” she whined, reaching out to touch his arm. “You know I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

He took a step back. “Don’t touch me.”

She narrowed her eyes, and then—

Her gaze landed on you.

Her face twisted. “You brought a girl to your practice?”

Toji exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “I swear to God—”

“You never let me come to your practices,” she cut him off, glaring. “But now you’re bringing some random bitch?”

At that, Toji turned fully toward her, his expression dark. “Man, fuck off.”

Then, without another glance, he walked off toward the locker room.

But his ex?

She was pissed.

And she was coming straight for you.

“You must feel real special, huh?” she sneered, stopping in front of you.

You raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You think you’re hot shit ‘cause Toji brought you here?” She crossed her arms. “Let me guess. You let him fuck, and now you think y’all together?”

Your jaw tightened. “First of all—fuck you. Second—what I do with Toji ain’t your business.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please. He’s mine.”

You laughed. “Clearly not.”

Her face reddened. “Listen here, you little sl—”

“Get the fuck outta her face.”

Toji’s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

His ex turned, startled.

Toji stood there, gaze cold, expression unreadable. “What the fuck you doin’?”

She hesitated, then quickly masked it with anger. “Why the fuck did you bring her here?”

“Why the fuck do you care?” he shot back, unimpressed. “Ain’t you got somebody else to bother?”

Her jaw clenched. “You—”

“Nobody gives a fuck.” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away. “Let’s go.”

You let him pull you along, not even looking back.

Once you were both inside his car, the tension snapped.

You exhaled a laugh. “Bro, what the fuck was that?”

Toji leaned back in his seat, rubbing his jaw. “That bitch is insane.”

You grinned. “‘Toji, baby—why’d you bring her—’”

Toji groaned. “Yo, shut the fuck up.”

You laughed harder, and after a beat, he chuckled too.

The rest of the drive was smoother. You talked about the upcoming tournament, football, and the game schedule before arriving at his place.

His house was empty, his parents at work, his brother nowhere to be found.

“Make yourself at home,” Toji muttered, heading for the shower.

Toji’s room wasn’t what you expected.

You thought it’d be messy—chaotic, even—but it wasn’t. It was simple, kind of bare, but still very him. The walls were a muted shade of gray, a few framed football posters hanging up alongside an old, slightly torn banner of his favorite team. His desk had a couple of notebooks scattered on it, some loose pens, and a few protein bar wrappers shoved into the corner. A pair of weights sat abandoned near the door.

His bed was unmade, but not in a disgusting way—just a little disheveled, like he didn’t bother fixing it in the mornings. His pillows were slightly flattened, and his dark gray sheets were bunched up near the foot of the bed.

And then there was your scarf.

Neatly folded under his pillows, like it belonged there.

You stared at it for a long moment, your heart doing something weird in your chest.

The sound of the bathroom door opening snapped you out of your thoughts.

When you turned, you almost choked on your own spit.

Toji stood in the doorway, hair damp and messy, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants. His abs—toned, glistening with residual water droplets—were on full display, and for a second, you could only stare.

His lips quirked. “Damn. I ain’t even say nothin’, and you already droolin’?”

Your brain took a second to reboot.

“Shut up,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

Toji chuckled, rubbing the towel over his hair. “Nah, you shut up.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back toward his bed. “So what are we watching?”

A brief argument ensued over Netflix choices, ending with Outer Banks playing on his small TV. You both got comfortable—him lying lazily against the pillows, you sitting with your legs crossed beside him. The occasional banter, the random commentary on the show—it felt normal, in a way you hadn’t expected.

And at some point, Toji knocked out.

You didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep until you felt his weight shift, his arm draping over your waist.

Your breath caught.

He was warm. Heavy. Relaxed.

His face, usually set in a cocky smirk or a lazy glare, looked softer like this. His long lashes rested against his cheekbones, lips slightly parted. He looked peaceful.

You let him sleep, settling deeper into the pillows as the episode continued playing in the background.

And when you eventually dozed off, it was to the feeling of his steady breathing against your skin.

When you woke up, it was still dark outside. The TV was still on, the glow of the screen casting flickering light across the room.

And Toji—Toji was still holding you.

Your heart did that stupid thing again, and you slowly shifted, trying to untangle yourself from him without waking him up.

It didn’t work.

He stirred, blinking groggily, his grip loosening as he groaned. “The fuck…” His voice was raspy with sleep.

You sat up, stretching. “You knocked out on me.”

Toji blinked a few more times, slowly realizing the position you’d been in. His jaw tightened slightly, and he cleared his throat, sitting up as well.

For the first time, he looked shy.

“You didn’t have to let me sleep on you,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.

You smirked. “Didn’t have much of a choice, big guy. You latched onto me like a damn leech.”

He scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

You laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “I should probably head home.”

Toji rubbed the back of his neck, still looking slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. Aight.”

The drive to your house was mostly quiet.

Not awkward—just quiet.

You both seemed lost in thought, the air between you still buzzing with whatever had just happened.

When he pulled up in front of your place, you turned to him with a small smile. “I had fun today.”

Toji snorted, his usual cockiness returning. “Yeah, yeah.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just say you had fun too.”

He smirked. “Aight. I had fun.”

You scoffed. “That was the most insincere shit I’ve ever heard.”

His grin widened. “Take it or leave it.”

You rolled your eyes again, reaching for the door handle. “Whatever. Good night, Toji.”

“Night.”

You stepped out of the car, giving him a small, shy wave before heading inside.

And Toji…

Toji watched you go, his fingers subconsciously tightening around the steering wheel.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ VERONICA !? ” : 

﹙ multi yanderes x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . multi yanderes x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ meant to be yours inspired ﹚

your lover has always been a bit possessive. . . but what happens when they frighten the living hell out of you? you lock yourself behind a door, thinking you could be safe. but he finds his way to the opposite side . . . : inspired by meant to be yours in heathers 

﹙ cws ﹚: dark content ˖ yandere characters ˖ violence on reader ˖ gaslighting ˖ manipulation ˖ forced kisses ˖ toxic relationships | wc : 1.7k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: I have been needing to give our yandere cgaracters some love aahhh

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

𖹭. VERONICA OPEN THE DOOR ───

﹙ veronica, open the - open the door please. veronica, open the door. ﹚. . . hàoyǔ 9948e !! 🍒 : He didn't mean to scare you. Of course he didn't. He never would. He just can't help himself sometimes. Not with the eyes that glue to you wherever you walk. Not with the way people speak to you. Not with the way they want you.

You are his. Isn't it obvious enough to those around? Is his hand on your waist not enough? His lips on yours? His soul linked to yours?

The mere thought had venom rising like a poisonous bile to the back of his throat all over again. He swallows like contraband. The swell of guilt in his gut extinguishes the flames of his possessiveness as he so gently knocks on the door.

"Please, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," his deep voice thickens all the more in regret. Forehead to the door, Hàoyǔ wonders if this is it. Has he finally fucked up? Showed you the dark parts of his soul that should have never seen the light?

"I would. . . never hurt you. Never." His hand slides to the doorknob. As if it would magically open with a small turn. The tightness of the lock in turn tauts his jaw, and with a deep breath, he schools his expression and eases his nerves.

A moment of silence before a hushed, "I'll be here for as long as you need," despite his desperate voice, dioaxazine hues deepen to a darker, duller shade.

"But I'm not leaving, alright? So take your time."

꒰  grim reaper character ꒱

 

﹙ veronica, can we not fight anymore please? can we not fight anymore? ﹚. . . alessio 9948e !! 🍓 : The locked door will forever be a reminder of his loss of control. Even so, his fist continues to batter at the wood while another fixes tight on the knob. An incantation.

All it would take is a single incantation. The door would become nothing but splinters. He could take you into his arms again.

At the cost of what? Even more fear?

A part of him didn't care. It shouldn't. You're his after all — he's only trying to keep you safe! Why are you trying to leave him? Is he not good enough for you anymore?

"Por favor, amor. It was a mistake. Please, let's put this behind us." The dryness of his tone has long since dissipated. Replaced with a desperation that almost made him flinch. Why is he here? Begging? He's a powerful sorcerer. He could have anything with a waft of his hand.

And yet, his pleading ensues.

"I can't leave with you being scared," he starts, rasped. "Not scared of me. Not angry at me . . . please." Like a candle dwindling, his voice shakes.

"So open."

Ignited once more.

"The fucking."

Ragged. Rageful.

"DOOR."

꒰ sorcerer character ꒱

﹙ veronica, sure, you're scared I've been there. I can set you free. ﹚. . . rishen 209 !! 🍒 : Like honey, his voice drips. Thick with sweetness and empty promises of comfort, tenderness. But just as honey is viscous throughout, so is the threat of poison. Looming tall behind the door you press your back into.

"Come now, cariño." His croon fills your ears. Throbs your heart. But your mind screams to remain firm. "Do you really think I would hurt you? Dearest, surely you know of words spilled in anger?"

If only it were just words. If only the thing that scared you silly was senseless words spoken in a fit of rage.

You saw it.

His eyes. The flicker of something you could only describe as dark. The linger of things that go bump in the night. Of monsters that creep and crawl when no one is looking.

The sharpness of his fangs. The split of a twisted grin and echoes of horrors in the morphing of his beautiful face. Twisted, sick tendrils.

The same ones itching at the wooden door. They're his nails, you attempt to tell yourself.

Nails? Do you mean the claws that left scratches round your throat that still burn in memory? A taste for what's to come if you let that monster in. . . or don't open the door at all.

"I thought you loved me, sweetheart." The shake in his voice tightens your heart. "I thought. . . I could be myself around you." Another jostle to the doorknob. "Thought you didn't see me as the monster I know I am. . ."

A small thump to the wood. You assume it's his forehead. His voice is trembling, is he crying?

"Please. Please don't be afraid of me. . . I only want what's best for you. I am so scared you will. . . you will leave. . . "

Your own hand reaches for the knob. He's evidently sorry. You hear it in his voice. Picture it in his tears. Yet as the door creeks open, you'll never undertand why goosebumps rose to your skin.

Why an unholy grin loomed from the opening you created.

꒰ mad scientist ˖ spider-moth-mantis monster ˖ villain character ꒱

 

﹙ veronica, don't make me come in there. ﹚. . . jìngyí 209 !! 🍓 : Serenity itself is what anyone would describe the doctor as. Charm and charisma galore. With a handsome smile and kind, albeit tired eyes.

None of which you hear in his voice as a fist pounds at the wood of the door. Loud, yet nothing in comparison to his aggressive, near-feral shout.

"Must you make this such a pain, my darling?" A break from his raised tone. All the more frightening as fear holds your heart in a choke-hold. You aren't certain if his tone now scares you more than the shouting.

You'll find out soon enough.

"You really think this will stop me? Open the door -" surely. You will find out just how to feel about him as a general.

"Open the fucking door before I find a way in myself and bash that pretty little head of yours IN-"

You were well aware that Jìngyí is anything but human. However, the echo of his voice in that moment? The rasped roughness combined with a sort of feralness you barely knew possible? It sounded as if a demon had reared its malicious head straight from the pits of hell.

What more could you do but cry? Cry, apologise, beg for him to calm down. Plead for him to just listen.

A scream leaves your lungs when a hole splinters through the door with ease. He'd warned you. And as you stumble back, hit the floor while he unlock the door from the other side, his looming shadow tells you that you perception of monsters knows nothing.

Not when compared to the tall, daggered presence of a mad man. Gold eyes bearing the true essence of a snake. Much like his unhinged jaw. Sharp, scaley features that surely would scar your nightmares for months to come.

And as he stalked closer. Snatched you by the arm and dragged you to him, with claws dug into your flesh as you sob your heart out.

The last thing you expected was his embrace. Nor the deep, breathless murmur to your ear.

"Why must you anger me, dearest?" A gentle hand to cup your scalp. "Why must you do this to us? To me? Can you not see that all I wish to do is love you?"

꒰ mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ villain character ꒱

 

﹙ I'm gonna count to three. one, two. ﹚. . . hàoyǔ 9948v !! 🍒 : What could be more frightening than a vengeful phantom outside your door demanding you let him in?

Well, a vengeful phantom that got a kick out of the fear that poured from you like the waterfall of your tears.

"Such a stubborn partner I find myself with. . . have it your way."

Claws scratch down the wood. A noise that makes your ears want to bleed for all they're worth. If his voice didn't already do the trick.

"Since I am a gracious man, I'll give you to the count of three. How does that sound?" The low chuckle from the back of his throat has you spilling more tears. He didn't bother knocking on the door. Or trying to get it open.

Why would he? You were foolish enough to think that a simple lock could keep him out.

"Give you three more seconds to regret every decision that brought you here. Three more seconds to understand what being mine means."

"One."

A grin.

"Two."

You already feel claws round your throat.

"Three."

Air leaves your lungs. The world falls still. Colourless. Except for the taunt of dioxazine eyes that reminds you of all your sins.

꒰  phantom ˖ rhytaari character ꒱

 

﹙ FUCK IT. ﹚. . . alessio 1311 !! 🍓 : What made you think that you could close the door on him in the first place?

He didn't bother asking you to open. The mere fact that you locked it sent his mind to a rageful disarray. It took but a shove of his hand before the door turned into splinters. The loud bang! sent you stumbling back and holding your head to shield you from any debris.

Your dazed eyes could barely process your boyfriend. Perhaps it was for the better. With those magenta eyes blown out in a devilish way and the look on his face anything but the man you fell in love with.

"You really thought you could lie to me, huh?" A rough hand snatches you by the jaw. Jerks you toward him. So that you are forced to feel the raw power at his fingertips. The rage in his eyes.

"What? You scared of me?" His deep voice pitches. A rasp from hell as he gives you a little shake. "Scared after you ran around acting like a little -"

"Alessio -"

"Shut up."

All you can do is whimper as his neat, black nails dig around your jaw as he presses you into him. His own jaw is tense. Words spoken from clenched teeth.

"Can't you see that I'm doing this for you? For us? You think you can just throw away ALL THAT WE HAVE -"

He sucks in a breath. Yanking you in to sate his anger with kisses to your lips. Whether you like it or not. While a hand drops to squeeze on your hip and ensure there's no escape.

Through the heat of his kisses you feel it. The buzz of possessiveness. The promise of threats if you continue on your path. All while he groans into your lips before parting. A string of salive connecting your lower lip to his snake bite piercings.

He croons. A low, cold sound. Cold like the silver chains around his wrists. Cold like his eyes that speak thousands.

"Don't piss me off baby. We're both not gonna like it."

꒰ rockstar ˖ arsonist ˖ inhuman character ꒱

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[nabi-unveiled]

The Smelly Storm Glass

When I first watched Episode 6, I was momentarily stunned when Hagiwara reeled back from the smell of the broken storm glass.

There's smell? We had definitely experienced sound, lighting, color, clothing and prop symbolism. We had all kinds of interesting framing and dialogue parallels. But smell? Had we had that previously?

Smell is not frequently used as a symbol outside of the ABO, werewolf & vampire genres. It's not nearly as common as lighting or color for example. It's sometimes mentioned for low-effort dialogue or scene advancement purposes (I need a shower because I smell. The food smells good., fart jokes etc.) However, it's really low on the list of symbolism in live-action TV. Why? Because it's harder to convey in visual form. Actually depicting smell (and not just talking about it) can be quite disruptive and off-putting if not done correctly.

Even when we do get smell symbolism, it tends to be reduced to a few different forms. When it happens, pay attention.

The first form of smell symbolism is "smelly hair". This happened recently in Your Sky with Muenfah talking about Teerak's hair smelling. In some ways, this is a throwback to a lot of older het Asian dramas. It was almost always the woman who had smelly hair, and it was typically a sign that they had not been caring for themselves properly. Teerak needed to learn boundaries and how to take care of himself. It also tied into his whole "kissing on the head" parallel.

We have a version of this in When It Rains. Less than one minute into ep 1, Hagiwara smells Kaori's hair before initiating physical intimacy.

However, there's no dialogue and it's not a bad smell. It's not the typical use. It's hard to say if it served a symbolic function or was an acting choice. I'm leaning towards the latter. Hagiwara often looks like he is almost smelling before he goes for the neck in intimate interactions. This one was just more blatant and had more time between the "smell" and going for the neck. That actually fits the narrative point and pacing of this scene.

The most we can really say is that it relates to Hagiwara's physical interest in Kaori; however, it's not strong as a symbol. I don't typically consider smelling as part of physical intimacy to be a symbol. That swerves into kinks & dynamics territory rather than pure symbolism.

The second type of smell symbolism we see in TV series is related to a particular scent being commonly associated with a person. This can be used to show a personal identity OR marking of territory. This is the type most often used in ABO/werewolf/vampire shows. It was recently seen in ep 17 of Perfect 10 Liners. Yotha hugs Gun to "share" his cologne. Sharing a smell is a lot like blending or swapping of colors in terms of symbolism. It shows a sense of togetherness. It's typically love, but it can also be clan/family.

However, when the smell isn't shared, it's often related to personal identity. It's not a BL, but My ID is Gangnam Beauty did this version of smell symbolism. The male lead associated a particular scent with his mother which caused issues when our female lead wears it. They also make couple scents. If you want a show with a lot of smell symbolism, this is it. I can't think of a BL equivalent in terms of sheer amount of smell symbolism off the top of my head.

We have a version of this type of smell symbolism in When It Rains. After eating together, Sei asks Hagiwara to spray cologne on him.

But it subverts the typical use of the symbolism. Sei is trying to cover up the smell. He's hiding his personal identity - removing himself to match Fujisawa's tastes.

It's interesting that Hagiwara is helping cover up his scent, but I think it serves more as a tool for dialogue development than symbolism.

The most I would be willing to say is that Hagiwara can't mark his territory. Sei isn't his (yet). That's a stretch. It feels like I'm making crap up for my own purposes. Which to be fair - I sometimes do.

BY FAR, those two forms are the most common in terms of smell symbolism in Asian dramas. A third form would be a smell triggering a memory; however, it's more common for that to be actually eating some type of smelly food instead of just the smell. The food is actually the symbol. Same with flowers - in most cases the flower is the symbol there, not the smell.

This brings us to the last form of smell symbolism we're going to discuss - the dead body. This type of smell symbolism is most often used in crime dramas. It's typically used to show when a crime is horrifically bad. The reaction to the smell is often shown before you see the crime scene. It serves as a warning for what's to come. As in "brace yourself, this next scene won't be pretty". I don't typically pay a lot of attention to this symbol. It probably exists in at least a couple BLs, but I'd have to rewatch the most probable candidates to find it.

There are some other interpretations; however, this is what the smelly storm glass seems to be (to me) in terms of smell symbolism. It's the dead body. It's the crime scene. Hagiwara's pose is very reminiscent of crime scene shots. The destruction already happened (in terms of the affair), but it's also a warning of what's to come. The SA scene comes directly afterwards. Horrific crime.

It is interesting to me that Hagiwara gets cut by the broken storm glass. We don't see it until his conversation with Sei. We find out directly after he tells Sei to blame him for what happened.

We know Hagiwara's character. He cares immensely about Sei. He's going to feel some kind of way about what happened to Sei. That his calling Sei triggered this event hurts him too. The nail is damaged (or at least covered in bandage residue), but it's the slice on the knuckle that is the worst. I am confident that if this injury was just related to Kaori, it would just impact his nail. It wouldn't be his finger too. Sei is the one that talks about his fingers. There's probably something there about it being a "slice" injury, but I'm not sure.

Again, there ARE alternative interpretations for the smelly storm glass. This is just the one that makes the most sense to me.

I've now written WAY too much about this show. For those that want to read it, here's a master list. I'll keep updating it as I add new posts.

[shrilleth]

YESSSS EXACTLY I ALMOST BROUGHT THAT UP.

Every ship in this fandom gets hit with the twinkinator / feminization beam and Bulkjack is one of those ships where you really can't do that. (And if you're gonna try and make one of them more feminine it has to be Bulkhead but they won't do that on account of him, again, being fat and black!!!!!)

But yeah, I think part of the reason masc4masc ships like Bulkjack are finally starting to catch on is that the demographics of people in fandom are seeing a slow increase of the percentage of gay men as opposed to women. Don't get me wrong, the fujoshis have been and always will be the lifeblood of any fandom, but without actual gay men around there is gonna be a major lack of authenticity in terms of how gay relationships are portrayed and what characters get shipped.

And I think that's really the missing piece as to both why this ship didn't take off and why it feels so insane now that it didn't. The reason we like the ship so much now is because it feels so authentic, almost to the point where it doesn't need to call attention to itself by fitting into a "typical gay dynamic", but 2010s fandom wasn't really equipped to detect that authenticity in the way that we are now.

And it's not even to say that the platonic reading of them is bad, reading it that way it's still really powerful and meaningful and important to show two best friends who are this close without the fear of it being gay, because yeah, men should be able to say I love you to eachother without it being some big deal, and the fact that they were able to show that on kids tv in 2011 is really cool.

But I think the fact that it can so easily be read as platonic is part of what makes it feel so real in a romantic context, the fact that the dynamic can be so easily read both ways, like, the way they act around eachother would not change that much depending on whether you read it as romantic or platonic.

I think part of the reason so many people missed out on them is because they "act like straight men" but I feel like that's because Bulkhead and Wheeljack have a dynamic that could only exist in a binormative society where homophobia never existed, in that masculine men being into men would be expected and there wouldn't be this level of insecurity surrounding it.

It's the kinda thing where I feel like this is what most gay cybertronian relationships would look like, in a way. It's like by virtue of being unable to be hit with the fembeam Bulkjack forces you to look at the relationship for what it actually is, and see what it tells you about cybertronian relationships as a whole.

idk maybe I'm overthinking it but auuuuu these two own my soul.

I still don’t and will never understand how bulkjack is considered a rarepair when both are canonically best friends, arcee’s "who’s the boyfriend?" Joke happening in their first interaction on screen and not being denied, that "it’s because I love ya" n shit like. ? What’s going on?