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esote-rika · 28 days ago

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not a mask, but a reflection | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: idk hurt/comfort?? flangst? something like that, I'm sorry I truly don't know how to categorize this Summary: The BAU ladies insist on a makeover for Spencer, so you decide to indulge them by promising to take him shopping. It doesn't go as either of you expected, but it allows a chance for the two of you to form a deeper bond. Content: reader’s outfit is described, reader is based on Blair Waldorf in background, and personality– so you're rich!! and fashionable!! And snarky, but in a ride or die sunshine x sunshine protector kind of way, early season 2 glasses!Spencer crushing on reader, implied autistic Spencer, brief mention of his bullying, lots of dialogue!!! especially about fashion advice (PSA to wear whatever you want!!) Word count: 2.8k A/N: I'm back on my Blair Waldorf-reader agenda. I'm mainly writing these because of my own crackship, but I tried very hard not to describe any specific appearance stuff for the reader (aside from what ur wearing) so it’s as immersive and universal as possible! Styling in film and TV fascinates me and I wanted to explore Spencer’s character through clothes. ALSO! I incorporate a Blair Waldorf quote into the conversation that goes “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be.” pls know I didn't come up with it, the Gossip Girl writers did. It's from S4E13 specifically.

Saturdays are usually meant for curling up on his couch to read his favorite books, or marathon obscure foreign films. Alone, always alone, Spencer Reid has grown used to the feeling; accepted it, enjoyed it, even. He wouldn’t have survived all these years if he didn't appreciate his own company, after all.

However, today is different. He’s expecting company, which is unusual enough, but he’s expecting you of all people. And it’s for such a silly thing too— a makeover. Something straight out of a cliche high school movie. It had started at work, during a case, a passing comment made by one of the people being interviewed. Something about looking like he’s playing dress up, spoken so softly he’d been willing to pretend to ignore it.

But you heard it, had snapped at the man in annoyance about respect and propriety. At the jet, you had snapped at him about wearing clothes that fit better, and of course Morgan and JJ had to get involved, and Garcia squealed about a makeover over the phone. He hadn’t expected you to accept; when you did, he considered several ways to get out of it: pretend to have a date (implausible), pretend to get sick, just don’t show up. But then you said you’ll meet him at his apartment and his world seemed to come crashing down.

“I need to see what I'm working with before I dive headfirst into this,” was your reply when he protested. It makes sense, of course, but he's not happy about accepting you into his space. It's curated for him and his comfort, and he dreads the idea of casting your shrewd, critical gaze over his design choices. If he's less of a coward, he would admit that a small part of him desires your approval. Craves it, needs it, so much it makes his skin crawl.

So that’s why his Saturday morning is spent cleaning; straightening books, hiding the case files strewn about. He doesn’t want to give you any ammunition to tease him with. Having to undergo a makeover is embarrassing enough.

It reeks of bleach when he opens the door for you. The wrinkle of your nose has no business being so cute when it's obviously done to express disgust.

“What is that smell?”

“Hello to you too,” he can't keep the sarcasm from his tone as he steps aside.

You saunter in heels even though this is meant to be a casual get together. They click against his hardwood floors until you reach his rug, the thick fabric dulling out the noise. “Did you bleach your entire place?”

His expression is sheepish as he closes the door, “I figured I'd clean.”

“You sure you're not hiding a murdered body in here?” you walk straight into the middle of his apartment and look around. He winces as he waits for your verdict.

“I’m not, I just - you’re so -”

“I’m so?”

“Particular.” I don’t want to disappoint you, but he clamps his mouth shut before the words escape. Having you come in for a makeover already isn’t doing anything for his confidence. In fact, it just confirms his suspicions. Something is wrong with him, despite all the attempts at propriety and flattery otherwise. The BAU sees it, you see it, and you’re here to fix it. He swallows the lump in his throat, and with it, his pride and the tiny hint of resentment.

You are trying to help, he reminds himself.

Maybe it’s his hopeless optimism, maybe it’s desperation to seem normal for once, but it’s enough to surrender to your knowledgeable hands.

He lets his eyes take you in, allows himself a moment to linger on the details of your ensemble. The picture of coordination, as usual; shoes and bag the same shade of rich brown, the barrettes in your hair matching the pale blue trimming along the edges of the sundress you’re wearing. This is you dressed down, he knows, but somehow you manage to outdress him.

“I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that,” your eyes roll, before landing to one of the doors in his apartment, “Where’s your bedroom?”

He sputters, “My - uh, why?”

“I’m assuming that’s where you keep your clothes?” You look at him like he’s dumb, and he turns bright pink. “I told you, I can’t take you shopping before I see what you already own.”

He can’t believe he fully didn’t realize it meant letting you into his bedroom. But then again, his brain has the tendency to turn to mush when he’s speaking with you. “Right,” he nods, scrambling to his bedroom. All of his anxieties about his living room and the overwhelming amount of books seem distant now; you hadn’t even commented on them. Instead, this new one arises, bubbles in his stomach. Showing you his bedroom is so much more intimate. The space he sleeps in, where he’s most vulnerable.

A space no other woman has ever even seen.

He feels your presence behind him, smells the distinct loveliness of the perfume you like to call your signature scent. Of course you don’t ask for permission. He’s found quickly that you’re used to taking and having what you want, used to the world yielding to you instead of the other way around.

Your heels make sharp taps against the floor. Combined with your perfume, it’s already obvious that you’re making your mark in his room, his haven. He imagines the fragrance will linger when you leave, and it makes his ears burn with a longing that knocks the wind from his chest. The door remains open, and he’s thankful that he isn’t completely caged in his bedroom with you.

“Here’s my, uh, where I keep my clothes.” he hastily opens his closet, relief flooding his body as he sees it’s not that messy. Everything is ironed and pressed, although some of his sweaters are haphazardly piled together. He hopes he won’t have to show you the mess that is his sock drawer.

You step up beside him, bare arm brushing against his. Brows furrowed in concentration as you rifle through his clothes. He steps back to give you more room to work with, although it’s more for his sake than yours. Your proximity is making him a little dizzy. He finds himself slumping on his bed, watching your movements. You’re approaching the task at hand with the same meticulous acuity as you would in a crime scene. Focused. Detail oriented, even when doing something so insignificant.

He’s not sure what to expect. He’s bought his clothes based on what he sees other men wear, relying on his observation skills, and the clothing guidelines given by HR to deduce what is considered appropriate. His father wore dress shirts a lot, back when his family was still intact. Hotch and Morgan wear suits, but those have always felt too formal to use on a daily basis. He opts for cardigans and sweater vests to keep him warm instead, because they’re softer, less restrictive. They remind him of Diana, the things she would wear back when she could still teach. He hopes you don’t make him get rid of them.

“You wear a lot of light browns,” your voice lifts him out of his anxious stupor, “You have to give that up.”

He frowns in confusion, “What’s wrong with wearing light brown?”

“You’re too pale, they make you look even more sickly. But if you must wear brown, lean into this shade instead,” you hold up a dark brown blazer that he actually really likes. He smiles, happy that it got your seal of approval. You turn to him, eyes narrowed, “And your dress shirts are too big, look at where the shoulder seam falls.”

He blinks in surprise as your hand comes to touch an inch past the edge of his shoulder, pinching the fabric, “It should be up here. You’re too slim for an oversized look, it just swamps your frame. If you’re going to be wearing them, they have to fit you better.”

He nods, feeling a little out of his depth, “How do you know all of this?”

“Years of consuming Cosmopolitan and Vogue.” You turn back to the closet, he frowns slightly. The words mean nothing to him, and he flinches when he hears you sigh.

“Fashion magazines?” you prompt, glancing back over your shoulder.

“Ah,” He nods, lips pursed, “I can't say those are on my reading lists.”

“Obviously not, otherwise you'd know not to wear,” You gesture at his entire ensemble, nose wrinkling once again, “This.”

It doesn’t really occur to him what the problem is as he looks down at his checked button down. “It’s a nice shirt.” he says, although he can see your point now; it’s too big.

“Reid, you look like you’re about to start proselytizing about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ.” you say, stepping away from his wardrobe and stopping in front of him.

Your teasing makes his cheeks burn. Or maybe it’s your sudden closeness, your hands at his buttons, “Um, what–” he’s stiff, memories rushing of being held down, clothes forcibly ripped—

“Relax,” you step back after undoing the top button. The annoyed scoff surprisingly gives him some comfort, reminds him it’s you, he’s here with you, “There, that’s better. Don’t button it up all the way.”

“Why not?”

“I told you, it makes you look like you’re cosplaying a minister.” He shifts under your gaze, feeling exposed, even though he’s fully dressed. But that’s exactly what you’re judging, after all, his clothes. There’s nowhere to hide. “Why are you so tense, Reid? It’s not going to make you look like a fool, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Why? Where does he even begin? The fact that he’s never had a woman in his room before, and it’s making him feel like he’s about to implode? His memories of being stripped naked for all the school to see, humiliated, fueling the irrational fear of letting go of his clothes, the things he’s comfortable wearing. And for what? In order to be fashionable? To seem normal, to be fixed?

He settles for a half truth, the words mumbled and embarrassed, “I like my clothes.”

To his surprise, your eyes soften, “Okay. And?”

“I like how I dress.”

“You don’t want to change your style?”

He looks down and shakes his head, feeling a little silly. How can he explain it to someone like you, who probably would have been one of his tormentors when he was back in school? It’s sick, this desire to be close to you, to be accepted by you as though being in your orbit would lessen his eccentricity. He thought he’d left it behind in high school, had grown out of it, but it’s there, recognizable and refusing to let him rest.

“You know you didn’t have to say yes to this,” the bed dips as you sit beside him, “It was a silly thing the girls and I thought would be fun, but if it’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop and we could just, I dunno, go for ice cream instead.”

“No, I - I do, I just… don’t want to change completely.” It's almost pathetic how something as simple as clothes is making him spiral, “I like how I dress, even if you guys make fun of it. It’s comfortable. I get really cold hands, and the sweaters help, and - and the satchel is convenient even if you say it clashes with my outfits or whatever.”

Your hand rests on his forearm, and his rambling halts immediately.

“Then I won’t stop you from wearing grandpa-chic,” the lightness in your voice makes him smile, “This is why I wanted to see what you had. I wasn’t about to start from scratch, and there’s obviously a reason you gravitated towards these pieces. I wouldn’t force you into something you hate, that sort of defeats my fashion philosophy.”

“Your fashion philosophy?” He's smiling now as he listens to you.

“I believe that the whole point of fashion and clothing is to help reflect what you are on the inside, not mask it.” You reply, hand finding his own. He allows it, finding something warm and soothing in the touch of your hand, silencing the usual urge to pull away in fear of germs. “And, anyway, I think your clothes make you look really intellectual, so if you like them, you have the pieces in your closet already, it’s just a matter of styling them better.”

You squeeze his hand, but he could have sworn you did it to his actual heart.

He watches as you return to his closet again, rummaging through the clothes. You hold up a white button down and a navy blue cardigan, head tilted to the side, teeth worrying the plushness of your lower lip, “Like this; this is a nice combination, and it’ll work better with your complexion. Try it on.” they’re tossed over to him, landing on his lap.

You’re turning away from him, still going through his clothes—allowing him privacy. He appreciates that. He scrambles out of his current clothes, his skin prickling as he thinks about the fact that he’s in a room with a woman alone, getting undressed. No. You’re a friend and a coworker doing him a favor, he should get his head out of the gutter. Hurriedly, he puts the suggested ensemble on.

“Uh, it’s — you can turn around.”

He holds his breath as your eyes rove over his figure, still with the same sharpness he’s used to, but blunted by the small smile playing across your lips. “Yeah, that’s better. Navy’s a great color for you.” you have a stack of his shirts in your hand, all of them patterned and printed, “I’m sorry, but these… have to go. Or at least don’t wear them to work. The prints are ugly, no offense.”

He chuckles, taking the shirts from you, “Not wearing ugly prints to work anymore, got it.”

“Yeah, keep the funky patterns on your ties.” you reach up, brushing lint and dust off the cardigan, “Your shirts should remain plain, solid colors; you have a lot of nice sweater vests and cardigans, it’ll be easier to match them together if your shirts are in more basic colors.”

Committing your words to memory is easy enough. Rules. He likes rules, but they need to make sense to him, otherwise their arbitrariness will simply frustrate him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

So far, you’re being so receptive to his questions, it might actually make him cry. It’s a new feeling, being the one who’s floundering. Not being the smartest, most knowledgeable person. How exciting, he decides, getting to learn in an area he’s never been able to fully understand on his own. He clarifies, “Why can’t I match the cardigans and sweaters to, uh, colorful shirts?”

It’s a while before you answer, moving around to wind a tie across his neck. Your words are thoughtful when you speak, “It’s a visual balance. Too many colors and patterns can look heavy and distracting— which is okay, you know, but time and place is always something to consider when you’re dressing up. And you’re going to work, so it’s better to err on the side of caution and wear things that are more… sleek.” Your hands are deft as they tighten the tie, tucking it into the cardigan. “So now that I know what sorts of clothes you like to wear, it’s a matter of finding the right color combinations and cuts that fit your body. Here, see for yourself.”

You push him forward until he’s in front of his mirror, and indeed he does look… better. Still himself, still familiar, but the contrast of the navy cardigan against his pale skin somehow brings out more warmth from his cheeks and makes his hair seem less dull. Visual balance, you said. “Like art,” he murmurs.

“Exactly,” your smile is proud, peeking from behind his shoulder, “Fashion is the most powerful art there is. It’s movement, design, and architecture all in one. It shows the world who we are and who we’d like to be… and this is showing the world that you’re one attractive nerd.”

He laughs at that. There’s a lightness in his chest as he realizes he doesn’t have to change everything. “I think I get it.” he replies, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“Of course you do, you’re a genius.” A slap on the back, one filled with warm intimacy, “Now, I did promise the team a makeover, so now that I know what sort of stuff you need, we can finally go shopping… and we need to do something with your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he asks, but he’s smiling and so are you.

THERE WILL BE A PART TWO! Also, tagging everyone who expressed interest in Waldorf!Reader @mggslover @libraprincessfairy @lillaberry @lokisswiftie

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fan fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you fluff #dr spencer reid #mgg #criminal minds fic #autistic!spencer

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3rachasdomesticbanana · 7 months ago

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Side Effects | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: Your science loving nerd of a roommate Jisung has been acting strange but that's not what has fear coursing through your body. It's the feeling that someone's watching you when you're supposedly all alone, the objects moving seemingly on their own and the phantom intimate touches that has you on edge.

Are you going crazy or is there something or someone in the apartment targeting you?

•Pairings: science geek Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, mentions of hauntings & hallucinations, lies and secrets, slight non-con?, somnophilia, unprotected & protected p n v, pervy Jisung, masturbation (m + f not mutual), cliffhanger, Chan makes an appearance a few times

an: if I missed something and you feel it should be included in the content warning please kindly let me know in the comments ♡

Part two will include more scenes with Bang Chan but Jisung is still included. Part three, which will be the last part, will be Jisung.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

⚠️tiny warning before continuing: there are moments where reader is unaware of what's happening due to being sleep. these moments may appear as non consensual which is the reasoning for the slight non-con warning. I tried make it known that any sexual activity that happens is welcomed. I hope I was able to convey that. Just a heads up lol. Enjoy♡

Your roommate, Jisung, is a nerd. You mean that in the most affectionate way, of course, but it’s true. When he's not helping the chemistry professor at the local college in his free time, he's experimenting in the apartment or researching different chemicals and compounds. His room is a chaotic mess of beakers, test tubes, and textbooks, everything he needs to create something from science. In the two years of living here, It’s never bothered you. Just as long as he and his equally nerdy friend, Chan, don’t blow the place up or set anything on fire. In fact, you’ve grown quite used to the faint, yet sharp scent of various chemicals wafting through the apartment over the years.

Today, the scent of acetone and metal permeates the small apartment. Jisung and Chan have been working on something for months, the two of them locked away in Jisung's cluttered bedroom. When you ask about it, they just shake their heads with a smirk and say, “Top secret, y/n.” You roll your eyes but smile, understanding their need for secrecy. You respect their space and their experiments, no matter how strange it makes them act, always offering to clean their beakers and test tubes whenever you're washing dishes. The dynamic between you and Jisung is what makes the roommate setup work.

Jisung couldn't believe his luck. Not only was his roommate hot and open minded but a gamer who's always down for a Naruto or Bleach marathon. He was so grateful that you weren't like the stuck up pretty girls he dealt with in highschool. Jisung really felt comfortable with you, he could be himself without fear of feeling like his IQ was lower than what it actually was. So whenever he and Chan were close to a scientific breakthrough and you never asked too many questions it only caused his “little infatuation” as he calls it, to grow.

One evening, you find yourself in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapy water as you scrub away at the dishes. The random playlist you chose earlier plays softly in the background and the faint scent of lemon from the dish soap mixes with the clean, crisp scent of freshly laundered towels, filling the kitchen air. You’re lost in thought, your mind drifting as you methodically clean the plates, forks, and glasses, when you feel a sudden, inexplicable chill. It’s as if a cold breeze has brushed against the nape of your neck but the windows are closed and the AC isn't on. You shiver involuntarily and glance around, half expecting to see Jisung standing there. But the kitchen is empty.

You shake your head, chalking it up to just a random chill and turn back to the sink. The sensation lingers, though—a prickling awareness like you're not alone. For ten minutes it felt like someone was there in the kitchen with you but each time you looked around, no one would be there. You could hear faint tinkering and music from Jisung's room and you knew he was working with Chan. The cold is back as you finish up the last of the dishes and when you turn around again, you nearly drop the plate in your hands. Jisung stands there, silent and unexpected. Brown eyes behind round framed glasses shine at you and he gives you an awkward smile.

"Where did you come from?" you ask, your voice higher than usual.

"Sorry," he says with a shrug. "Didn’t mean to scare you, just needed a drink."

You laugh nervously, feeling your rapidly beating heart slow down. "Jeez Ji, you should wear a bell or something." You let out a breathy chuckle.

He shrugs again and laughs quietly before grabbing a drink from the fridge and disappearing back into his room without another word. The interaction leaves you confused and slightly unsettled. Well, that was strange… stranger than usual. There’s something off but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shouldn't really be surprised by strange behavior when it comes to Jisung but he's never acted that strange before.

Over the next few days, strange happenings become more frequent. Objects begin to move on their own; a cup slides across the kitchen counter that you barely just noticed and a book falls from a shelf behind you while you watched tv. You find yourself jumping at shadows and sounds and now you're convinced that the apartment is haunted. Of course you haven't said anything about it, Jisung would more than likely think you're crazy.

One evening, you’re gaming in the living room. Headphones on, fully engrossed in the game, when your can of soda just sort of levitates a few inches off the coffee table before gently coming back down. The controller slips from your hands as a cold sensation moves across your cheek. You jump back and scream, calling out for Jisung, but it’s Chan who saunters into the room. Curly hair wild, lab coat askew, and glasses perched on his nose.

"Jisung’s in the bathroom," he says, noticing your wide eyes and pale face. "What’s up y/n?"

"The can... it moved on its own." You stammer.

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "Must be a temperature change or something. Science can explain a lot of weird stuff, y/n."

“Channie, it fucking levitated! Can science explain that?!” you say in a half shout, half whisper looking up at him.

“Mate, chill out.” He gives you a sympathetic smile and walks over to you to pat your head. “Science can most definitely explain that. I can show you how if you want? I'll just need a few supplies for the demonstration.” His eyes light up and he smiles wide at you, showing off his dimples.

“That’s… okay, Chan. You don't need to do that.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice isn't missed and he chuckles, patting you again before leaving the room.

You’re not convinced, but you nod to yourself and try to focus on the game, occasionally glancing back at the can. The feeling of being watched never truly leaves, though. Every day you start to notice more—subtle things, like the way Jisung’s eyes linger on you a fraction too long, or the odd satisfaction in his smile when you mention the hauntings after you caved and told him. Jisung's watchful eyes make you feel like you're part of one of his experiments, like some sort of test subject. He's always been a bit weird at times, but this is a whole different level of weird for him. You shrug it off as stress or lack of sleep since he and Chan have the tendency to overwork.

The night is warm tonight, the air heavy with the lingering heat of the summer day. You sit in the black metal wicker chair on the balcony, a book loosely cradled in your hands, listening to the sounds of traffic and crickets below. The warm summer breeze drifts across your skin and you adjust your tank top and shorts that have already begun sticking to your skin from the heat. With a sigh, you look down at the worn paperback book in your hands and try to focus on the words.

You’re half-aware of your surroundings: the breeze, the faint smell of an impending rainstorm, the sounds of the city. It’s peaceful, lulling you to sleep. Your body relaxes, and the book slips from your fingers, resting across your lap. You're in a state somewhere between consciousness and slumber when you feel it.

It's subtle at first, like a feather brushing against your skin, but it soon shifts to the feeling of hands. The touch is hot and insistent, groping your breast under the thin fabric of your tank top. Panic surges in your chest and you force your eyes open, heart pounding in fear. You sit up, the book slipping from your lap and landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.

You glance around, trying to make sense of what you just felt, but the balcony is empty. You glance down and your breath catches in your throat. Your left breast is exposed, the strap pulled aside in a way that couldn't have happened by accident. A cool breeze brushes against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the phantom heat of the touch you just felt. You pull your tank top back in place with trembling hands, looking everywhere but seeing nothing. Scrambling to your feet, you slide open the glass door and step inside, locking it behind you.

With your heart still thundering in your chest, you make your way to Jisung's room. When you knock on his door, you hear shuffling, the sound barely audible over the whir of some machine inside. He opens it a little and you’re momentarily stunned by the sight of him—disheveled hair, sweaty brow, black-framed glasses askew and wearing an oversized black hoodie.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"I think…” you sigh and brace yourself. "The apartment is definitely haunted." you blurt out.

Jisung looks shifty, eyes darting to the side but he quickly recovers and a skeptical smirk plays on his lips. "Haunted? Really, y/n?"

"I’m serious," you insist. "I think something just touched me. Out on the balcony." You point a finger in the direction of the glass door.

Jisung’s brows knit together and he steps out of his room, closing the door behind him, giving you his full attention. "Like... someone was out there?" He messes up his hair even more, running his fingers through the dark strands.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "No, there was no one there when I opened my eyes but it felt hands on me Ji. I don’t know how to explain it."

His eyes darken with a mixture of skepticism and concern. "So you think the place is haunted and that a ghost touched you?" You nod, your heart still pounding in your chest.

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you, if only slightly. "Sounds like you were in REM sleep. Dreams tend to feel real and vivid in that cycle." He gives you a sympathetic smile and adds, "Maybe it’s just your imagination."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I’m not imagining this, Ji." You say starting to feel frustrated.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, y/n. I’ll look into it, alright?"

Reluctantly, you nod and walk to your room with more questions than answers. As days pass, the strange activity continues. You catch glimpses of movement from the corner of your eye, feel phantom touches on your skin, and hear whispers that have no source. You're starting to feel like you're going crazy.

Jisung’s behavior becomes stranger. He spends even more time locked away, emerging only to grab food or ask you cryptic questions about your day. You start to suspect he knows more than he’s letting on but every time you ask, he deflects with a nervous laugh and spouts some scientific theory. Even Chan is acting odd, though he's usually the more grounded one among them. Not by much—Chan's a weird one too, but it’s part of his charm. He’s an adorkable dork.

The two men are lounging on the couch tonight, eyes glued to the anime playing on the screen, while you're in the kitchen preparing popcorn for the three of you. The scent of melted butter fills the air as you pour it over the freshly popped kernels.

Suddenly, Chan's voice cuts through the ambient tv noise. “You did what?!”

Jisung quickly shushes him, their heads whipping around to you as you turn to look at them, each wearing an identical, innocent grin. Weirdos, you think, shaking your head, tossing the popcorn.

You missed Jisung's whispered confession to Chan about his antics on the balcony. Chan already knew about the mysteriously moving objects and the true cause behind them. It's because he was partially involved. He and Jisung had created a liquid that granted invisibility to the drinker. Their top secret experiment they were working on for damn bear a year was almost near perfect. After successful trials on mushrooms and lab rats “borrowed” from Jisung's chem professor, they decided to take it a step further. Jisung volunteered as their human test subject, and you became the unwitting participant in their trails.

Chan never imagined Jisung would push the boundaries so far though, especially by groping you. But Jisung couldn't resist. Initially, his plan was to give you a harmless scare, maybe brush against your arm. But when he saw you asleep, your tank top revealing the side of your breast, his self-control vanished. He was overwhelmed by a primal urge and it was like his hands were moving of their own accord. He gently pulled your left breast free and gave it a firm squeeze. His mouth hovered inches from your skin, ready to kiss the mound of flesh when you woke with a start.

“Bro, I don't know if you should be taking so many doses. We're not sure if there's any side effects.” Chan cautions, his voice barely audible as you rejoin them in the living room.

Jisung stays silent, unable to respond to his partner as you settle on the floor in front of them, handing over the bowl of hot popcorn. Chan’s concerns echo in Jisung’s mind. He knows Chan is right, but the thrill of invisibility is intoxicating. He revels in the mischief, in watching you unaware of his presence. The moments when you think you're alone, wearing nothing but that oversized Tokyo Ghoul T-shirt and panties, are his favorite.

Every time you reach for a cup or a plate, the hem of your T-shirt lifts just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of your ass. When you bend over, the thin material of your thong outlines your pussy, making him feel certifiably insane. Sometimes he would intentionally knock something over just to watch you pick it up. The sight of you bending would make him painfully hard and he'd have to slip away to his room, unable to resist the urge to jerk off to the image that was now burned into his mind.

Jisung’s addiction to the elixir grows with each use. He tells himself it's all in the name of science, to see how much is needed for long-lasting effects but deep down, he knows it's because he can’t get enough of watching you unseen. He needs to be closer to you.

One night, Jisung decides to take things further. Pretending to go out to help the professor at the college, he sneaks back into the apartment quietly, slipping into your room while you’re in the shower. The steam fills the air of your bathroom, the hot water cascading down your body. As you stand under the spray with your back to him and eyes closed rinsing your hair, you remain oblivious to his presence. The glass door to the shower is slightly ajar, giving him a perfect view of your wet body. His breath hitches as he frees his hard cock from his sweats. It’s as if he has no control over his impulses; the need to cum clouds his thinking or maybe it's the elixir that's got him feeling this way? He rubs the palm of his hand over the head of his cock, coating it with precum. When you bend over to shave your legs, he almost cums at the sight of your bare pussy.

Jisung’s eyes are glued to the space between your thighs and the way the water bounces off your skin as the steam rising around you. He bites his lip to keep quiet, thinking, “So beautiful.” His hand moves faster, and he's bucking up into his closed fist until he can’t hold back any longer. With a muffled groan, he cums hard, splattering onto your ass and mixing with the water, washing away unnoticed by you. If only the elixir made his semen invisible too, he'd probably always cover you in the warm, wet fluid like this. He knows he would.

Watching you becomes a nightly ritual for Jisung. He drinks the pale teal liquid that is the invisibility elixir and sneaks into your room. He watches you during intimate moments, like when you fuck yourself with your fingers before bed. He hears you moan his name occasionally when you bring yourself to multiple orgasms and it only adds fuel to the fire. He never thought you found him attractive.

To him, you’re way out of his league. But watching you climax to the thought of him is a dream come true. His obsession grows, and he becomes bolder, unable to resist the urge to touch you while you sleep. Each night when you fall asleep, he lightly runs his middle finger up and down your cunt over your pajamas while he fucks his hand. The soft moans you let out in your sleep never fails to make him cum.

One particularly hot night, you decide to sleep naked on top of your covers. It's impossible to be comfortable when your pajamas stick to your overheated body. You’ve just had an orgasm and you lay there, sated and relaxed waiting for sleep to take over (though you really should get up to pee). Jisung watches you from the corner of your room, his cock painfully hard in his hand. He's lost track of how long he's actually been in here watching you. He waits until you're deep asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily, before he moves closer to your bed.

He can’t resist the sight of you, legs spread apart, pussy glistening. He begins to stroke his cock standing at the foot of your bed but it’s not enough. Before he knows it, he’s slipping out of his sweats. The bed dips as he crawls onto it but you don’t stir. He pushes your legs apart more, his breath catching as he sees just how wet you still are. Slowly he rubs the head of his cock against your folds, shuddering and the sensation. He tells himself “Just the tip,” but when he pushes into your opening, your pussy clenches around him and he can’t stop. He pushes deeper and deeper, burying himself inside you, freezing when you make a soft moan.

He waits, barely breathing before he starts to move slowly. You feel so warm and tight around him. He knows he should stop, "This is so wrong!" his inner thoughts yell at him but it feels too good.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet.” he whispers in the dark, feeling bolder.

Slowly he moves but soon each thrust becomes more desperate than the last. He has to stop himself from slamming into you so that he doesn't wake you.

“Slowly… slowly… ah! Oh shit.” he mumbles quietly. “Is this what you were imagining when you came moaning my name, y/n? Hm? Were you imagining my cock pumping in and out of this tight cunt? Oh fuuuck, mm.”

His legs soon begin to shake as he watches the way his cock disappears inside your dripping cunt and slips out again, leaving his length covered in your creaminess. It's too much—the sight, the soft sighs you're making in your sleep. He pulls out just in time, pumping once into his hand before he's cumming onto his palm, careful not to leave any evidence behind.

He takes one last look at you, still sleeping, before he tiptoes out of your room and back into his. Had you woken up, you would've caught sight of Jisung cumming into his hand above you. The elixir wore off just as his orgasm hit him. He lays in his bed still feeling the lingering sensation of you squeezing his cock with your pussy and it takes a lot to not down more of the pastel teal liquid that sits on his desk and go back into your room to fuck you again.

“How can I make it last longer? There's got to be a way to lengthen the invisibility time frame without taking too many doses,” he mumbles to himself, looking up at the ceiling and lazily stroking his cock. He cums hard minutes later, moaning loudly into his pillow, replaying the sound of you moaning his name in his head and falls asleep peacefully with a smile on his face.

The next morning, you’re up early, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in your hands. A blank sleepy expression on your face as you stare off into space. Jisung joins you, wearing his best poker face.

"Hey, y/n," he says, trying to sound casual. "Sleep well?"

You nod, your eyes, however, tell a different story. "I had a weird dream. It was so vivid... so real. It felt a lot more real than the one I had on the balcony."

Jisung’s stomach churns with guilt but he forces a smile after pouring his own cup of coffee. "Dreams can be like that sometimes. Maybe it’s stress or something."

"Maybe," you murmur, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. "It’s just... I woke up sore." Your face heats with a blush thinking about your activities before you fell asleep last night. Maybe you were too rough? But then why do you feel like you were stretched out way beyond your two fingers?

He swallows hard, trying to keep his expression neutral and ignore the growing sensation of his cock as he sits down across from you. "Sometimes dreams can manifest physically. Your mind is very powerful, you know."

You nod slowly, still feeling doubtful. You know that something strange is going on around the apartment but it's just your testimonies with no hard evidence.. Soon the conversation shifts to more mundane topics and Jisung couldn't be more relieved but the tension remains between you. Throughout the day, you barely see him. Even when Chan came by, Jisung didn't come out of his room. You got the weirdest feeling that he was avoiding you.

“Maybe he's just tired of hearing me complain about my delusions,” you wondered to yourself stirring a cup of chamomile tea.

You spent the time you weren't working convincing yourself that you were indeed experiencing some stress-induced hallucinations. Who were you to doubt someone as smart as Jisung and Chan? A week off of work would do you some good—maybe you'll give yourself a spa day, binge on junk food, and catch up on some anime.

Meanwhile, Jisung and Chan worked hours and hours trying to study their creation further. Jisung's secret of what he did last night stays that way. A secret... No way could he tell Chan—he'd probably stop the experiment, maybe destroy all their hard work and Jisung couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. He needed it now, needed you now. He wasn't just obsessed with the science and having created something that scientists have tried to create for centuries; now he was obsessed with the feeling of invisibility, obsessed with the power it gave him and obsessed with the feeling of you. He craved it all. He knew that feeling could be a side effect, as well as feeling out of control while invisible and all the reckless wrong things he did but he chose to ignore every red flag and blaring warning signs. The more he drank the elixir, the more it controlled him, possessing him with insatiable lust and desire.

That night, driven by compulsions he can't deny, Jisung slips into your room again. Once more, you're naked, lying on top of the covers and the cool air from a fan blowing over your body, makes your nipples hard. The sight takes his breath away, every inch of your body exposed to his hungry gaze again makes his mouth water. He positions himself between your legs, slipping on a condom before pushing into you. The sensation is overwhelming, and he bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound. You moan in your sleep, your hips lifting towards him, and he nearly loses it. He begins to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of consciousness. You murmur something unintelligible but stay asleep. In and out he moves, the slow tempo is so frustrating to him but he knows he needs to be smart. You moan his name in your sleep and he flinches, startled by your voice.

"Shit..." He whispers looking down at you.

Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him. Your breathing changes, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He can't help but cum quickly and it's intense. He's trembling and panting, spilling into the condom that he hastily slipped on earlier with a grunt. He's still thrusting into you slowly, riding out his orgasm when you start to wake up.

The room is dark when your eyes slowly flutter open. A faint glow from the streetlights seeps through the blinds of your window and casts eerie shadows across your walls. There's a random sensation between your legs pulling you from the depths of sleep. At first, it feels like another dream, but it's all too real. Your eyes scan the darkness, heart pounding, but there's nothing—just the dark room and the soft rustle of the sheets.

The feeling of being filled, stretched in the most intimate way and the rhythmic movements should scare you, but the pleasure is too incredible. Your breath hitches and you find yourself moaning softly as your fingers instinctively trail down your body, finding your clit. You begin to rub, matching the invisible thrusts, your mind in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

Jisung is mesmerized by the sight and his own pleasure builds again as he watches you pleasure yourself. The combination of your fingers and his cock pushes you closer to the edge and he can feel your orgasm approaching, your muscles tightening around him.

"Fuck me harder." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your eyes squeeze shut and you arch your back lost in the intensity of it all.

Jisung bites down hard on his lip but obliges silently, thrusting harder, deeper and the bed creaks with the force of his movements. He's getting closer to a second orgasm and he can't hold back. His speed picks up and his fingers dig into your hips as he rails your eager warmth. Your body tenses, your back arching further off the bed as you cry out, the sound of your orgasm filling the room. He watches you, unseen but not unnoticed, every moan, every tremble fueling his own arousal. The sight of you coming apart because of him, the feel of you around him—it's too much. With a hard final thrust, he cums hard, filling the condom more that it's dangerously close to overflowing.

You collapse back onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering close. The room is silent, the only sound is your labored breathing. You sit up slowly, heart racing, looking around the room, but there's nothing like always—just shadows and silence. Even the full feeling is gone.

"Was… Was that real?" you whisper, voice trembling. "I'm losing my mind."

You slide out of bed, legs unsteady and make your way to the bathroom. The light is harsh, almost jarring after the darkness. You look at yourself in the mirror, skin flushed, eyes wide. The lingering effects of your climax make you shiver.

"If that was a dream, it was the most realistic dream of my entire life." you whisper to your reflection. "But if it wasn't... does that mean that whatever is haunting this place just fucked me?" You shake your head and turn the faucet on, splashing your face with cold water.

Jisung slips away, heart pounding, mind spinning. He knows he has to stop, that what he's doing is wrong in so many ways. But the memory of being inside you, the way your body responded to him awake—it’s past addictive. He can still feel the heat of you, the way you clenched around him and he’s not sure he can give that up. He retreats to his room, the guilt eating at him even as your climax plays over and over in his mind.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing he’s crossing a line but unsure if he can ever come back from what he's doing. The need, the desire—it’s too powerful. He’s gone too far, and he knows it. The thought of stopping, of never feeling you again—it’s a torment he’s not sure he can endure. All he can think about is the moment he's able to be inside you again.

As the days pass, the tension between you grows. Jisung’s obsession deepens. He becomes reckless, pushing the boundaries of what he can get away with. When he asks how you're doing, you gloss over your experiences of the previous nights, only telling him that you had another strange dream. You don't tell him how you're starting to enjoy them or how feeling sore and wet the next morning is almost addicting.

You think you've gone insane but you embrace the lunacy. Each night, you feel the presence, the pressure, and you give in to it. Giving the ghostly dream specter a face, you've started imagining Jisung, which only makes the experience that much more real and pleasurable. You picture his face, his body, the way he would touch you if he knew your secret desires. It’s become a habit for you now, a way to cope with the confusing feelings. It's better than things getting messy between you two. You'd have nowhere to live if something went wrong between you and Jisung. No need jeopardizing your living arrangements and friendship.

The night is still early, and you can hear the two men in the other room tinkering with their experiments as you rest in your own room. Does the feeling only happen when you're asleep? Could you trigger it somehow? Should you try talking to it?

As you lie naked in your bed, you close your eyes and imagine Jisung. You see him in your mind, wearing nothing but his little lab coat and glasses, kneeling between your legs, looking down at you. You slip a finger past your folds and then another. Your fingers work furiously, slipping in and out. “Jisung,” you moan softly.

His heart skips a beat, for a moment he thought you were aware of him in your room.

“Jisung,” you whisper again into the darkness. “Please… please touch me.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung stands at the foot of your bed, invisible and now trembling with need. He hears your whispered plea and it’s like a spark to a stick of dynamite. He climbs onto the bed, his eyes devouring the sight of your naked body, so inviting, so ready. You feel the bed shift and gasp, afraid to open your eyes in fear of the feeling disappearing.

He moves between your legs, his hands tracing the curve of your thighs and you shiver at the familiar, unseen touch. You moan softly, your body responding instinctively, your hips lifting in anticipation. Jisung takes his time, savoring every moment, his cock already hard and aching.

He lets the bead of precum drip onto your pussy before he slides into you slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure as he stretches you. You gasp, your hands clutching the sheets, your back arching off the bed. So real, so intense, you moan Jisung's name again, the sound driving him wild.

“Jisung… yes, please…” you plead, your voice thick with desire.

He moves within you, his thrusts deep and steady, the bed creaking with each motion. You meet him with equal fervor, your hips rocking against his, your body desperate for more. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slick, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.

Jisung’s heart races, the thrill of fucking you while you moan his name, steadily pushes him to the brink. He watches your face, the way your eyes squeeze tight, the way your lips part in ecstasy and he knows he can’t stop. Not until you're cumming around him.

“Fuck, Jisung,” you cry out, your fingers digging into the mattress as your orgasm builds. “Fuck me harder.”

He does. Jisung leans into you supporting himself on one hand fucking you harder, pushing into you deeper and gripping your hip so tight it'll leave bruises but you don't notice. You meet his movements eagerly, your body arching, welcoming him in. The sound of your moans fills the room, mixing with the creak of the bed and the slap of skin against skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Yes, Jisung, just like that.” you pant, your voice breathy and desperate.

He's driving into you with a force that makes the bed rock and hit the wall. Your tight, wet heat and your voice spurring him on. He can feel your body tensing, can tell you’re about to cum.

“Cum for me, y/n.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Cum on my cock.”

You cry out, shocked at hearing a voice and your body is convulsing as you reach your orgasm. He pulls out just in time, spilling his seed onto your stomach, watching as it glistens in the dim light. He didn't mean for this to happen; he was only in your room as a test. Chan, back in Jisung's room, sits with a stopwatch timing just how long the test run will last. He was only meant to watch you. Jisung didn't have a condom this time but he can't seem to care about the consequences of leaving his cum behind.

You lie there, panting, a satisfied smile on your lips. “Jisung…” you murmur one last time before rolling over, drifting off to sleep.

Jisung watches you for a moment longer, a mix of pride and guilt churning inside him before he goes and rejoins Chan, who heard everything. He's questioned by his best friend as soon as he walks into the room. Jisung has no choice but to confess and with a deep breath he tells him everything. The watching, the touching… the sex. By the time he's done, Chan is staring at him in disbelief.

"Dude, that's... I don't even know what to say," Chan finally says. "You know that's messed up, right?"

"I know," Jisung says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know… but I can't stop. You don't understand. There's this compulsion, this undeniable need when I drink it. It's… it's like my deepest desires control me and I can't do anything to fight back. Please, help me."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll help you. We're in this together. I'll be the one drinking it now, and I'll stay here to make sure you don't do anything you shouldn't. We need to be more careful from now on.”

Jisung nods and sighs with relief and for the next few weeks, they work tirelessly, refining the elixir. They study Chan's reactions, starting from the lowest dosage, slowly upping it little by little. Jisung tries to keep his distance from you, but it's hard. Every time he sees you, his desire flares up and he has to fight the urge to use the elixir again. He misses being inside you.

It's been weeks since you felt the ghostly presence and you miss it but you figured since it went away, then it really must've been due to stress and the days off from work truly helped. You didn't think you'd ever feel the strange sensation of being fucked by something you couldn't see again.

How incredibly wrong you are....

★𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱★ wanna be tagged? Let me know here

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst @jeonginsbaee

#skz smut #han jisung smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #han jisung drabbles #han jisung imagines #han x reader #han smut #han jisung fanfiction #han jisung fanfic #han jisung hard hours #han jisung hard thoughts #han jisung oneshot #han jisung x reader

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fratttymatty · 2 months ago

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All Bleached Up

(All characters are 18+)

It was a crisp Saturday morning when five friends—Eli, Max, Simon, Oliver, and Noah—ambled toward "Luminous Lux Spa" in downtown Portland. The group, all 25 years old, shared many commonalities. They were unabashed nerds, fanatical about RPGs, sci-fi marathons, and lengthy debates about quantum mechanics over artisanal coffee. Athleticism had never been their thing, nor was blending into the mainstream. Each identified as gay, content with their identities, but also mutually perplexed by how the world so often seemed to pass them by.

The spa trip had been Simon’s idea, a whimsical response to an internet ad promising “transformative rejuvenation” through luxury hair treatments. The rest of the group laughed it off at first, but as they joked about who would look best with frosted tips, the plan stuck. Bleaching their hair sounded fun and absurd—an ironic experiment to kickstart the new year.

As they checked into the spa, an elegant attendant guided them toward a sleek, dimly lit room that smelled faintly of lavender and ozone. They each settled into cushioned chairs as hair stylists went to work on their heads. The bleaching process began, with foils and thick pastes applied liberally. There was a sense of giddy rebellion as they watched their dark locks begin to lighten.

None of them could have guessed what was coming next.

The first oddity was the heat. As the bleach set in, each of them began to feel an intense warmth—not painful, but almost electrical, like a current buzzing just beneath their scalps. Simon, who had been midway through explaining the intricacies of a D&D subclass, suddenly stopped speaking. His usually quick, articulate thoughts felt… fuzzy. Across the room, Oliver scratched his arm and mumbled something about feeling “kinda... weird.”

Then it hit them all at once. A blinding white flash filled the room, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. In an instant, the chairs beneath them felt too small, their clothes too tight. Muscles swelled, skin smoothed, and voices deepened in a chorus of surprised groans. By the time the light faded, the five friends were unrecognizable.

Eli, now Ethan, blinked in the mirror and grinned. His newly muscular frame filled out his formerly baggy hoodie, and he grinned as he caught sight of his mullet. The messy layers cascaded down the back of his neck, while the front stayed perfectly tousled. He ran a hand through it, noticing how soft it felt, then flexed his bicep for no reason other than how cool it looked. “Bro, this is... sick,” he said, his voice several octaves lower and tinged with confidence he’d never known before.

Max, now Mason, was already admiring his buzzcut. The clean, sharp lines accentuated his chiselled jaw and strong cheekbones. He stood up and stretched, marvelling at how tall he suddenly was. “Dude, I feel... awesome,” he laughed, the word “awesome” rolling off his tongue like a mantra.

Simon had become Shawn. His short, straight middle part framed his now angular face perfectly. He tilted his head from side to side, checking out his reflection and smirking. “Yo, I look hot,” he said, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands of his new hair.

Oliver, now Cody, had traded his glasses and wiry frame for a broad chest and messy, spiked hair. He ruffled it playfully, delighted by how effortlessly cool it looked. “This is, like, next-level,” he said, his former eloquence replaced with a casual, almost lazy cadence.

Finally, Noah—now Nate— his platinum-blonde hair—wavy and flowing with a casually styled middle part—gave him the look of a model straight out of a teen drama “Hell yeah,” he said, flexing his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I look like a beast.”

As they stared at their reflections, a strange calm washed over them. Their former selves—nerdy, awkward, gay 25-year-olds—felt like distant memories, as if they’d read about those lives in some book they barely remembered. The idea of going back didn’t even cross their minds. Why would it? This was so much better.

When they left the spa, the group barely recognized the world around them—or maybe the world didn’t recognize them. Their old habits and quirks had melted away, replaced by the easy swagger of high school jocks who owned every room they walked into.

Ethan, the leader of the group, quickly found himself the captain of the high school soccer team. His wavy, platinum hair and sculpted jawline made him the talk of the school, and it wasn’t long before he started dating Maia, a bubbly blonde cheerleader who adored how confident and protective he was. She was a total ditz, always giggling and clinging to his arm, but Ethan didn’t mind. They were perfect together.

Mason, with his buzzcut and sharp edges, joined the wrestling team, where his natural strength and newfound aggression made him unstoppable. He caught the eye of Brittany, a loud, flirtatious cheerleader with a penchant for blowing pink bubblegum. Brittany adored how strong Mason was and constantly bragged about him to her squad. The two became inseparable, their conversations rarely deep but always full of laughter.

Shawn’s sleek, short middle part and smoldering gaze earned him the nickname “Pretty Boy.” He became the go-to guy for advice on dating (despite never thinking too hard about it himself) and ended up with Tiffany, an overly dramatic cheerleader who spent most of her time obsessing over her nails and selfies. Shawn found her giggles and constant texting endearing and loved how she’d lean on him during lunch.

Cody’s messy spikes gave him a carefree, rebellious vibe that made him a magnet for attention. He became the star quarterback, and his cocky grin was enough to win over Jessica, the ditziest of all the cheerleaders, who rarely remembered what class she had next. She loved cheering for him from the sidelines, and Cody thought her cluelessness was adorable.

Nate, with his mullet and devil-may-care attitude, joined the skateboarding crowd. He started dating Amber, a thrill-seeking blonde cheerleader whose giggles always followed her daring stunts. She wasn’t the brightest, but she matched Nate’s chaotic energy perfectly, and the two were constantly laughing as they pulled off ridiculous pranks.

By the end of the week, the five friends had fully embraced their new lives. They had no memory of “Eli,” “Max,” “Simon,” “Oliver,” or “Noah,” and even if they did, it wouldn’t have mattered. Their days were now filled with sports practices, bonfires, and parties, not late-night coding sessions or board games.

The spa had delivered on its promise: transformative rejuvenation. It just happened to transform them into something they never could have expected—and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

#male tf #male tf story #gay to straight #nerd to jock #smart to dumb

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prettyboysnuffilm · 8 months ago

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One of the best things about Billy and Stu is that despite the whole murder thing they are just stupid dumb teenagers and they make stupid dumb decisions all. the. time. I personally enjoy the coming of age side of their relationship a ton. Billy crashing at Stu's place to study for a final test that turns into a movie marathon and then into some 'i don't know if we should share a bed' kind of situation. Stu failing classes, feeling the pressure of 'I'm never going to make it to college like my sister did'. Billy getting good grades but having to deal with his father saying stuff like 'You should have joined some sports team, you're wasting your potential'. Billy missing his mother and Stu struggling with parents that neglect him. Them sneaking beers into each other's rooms and getting fake IDs. The first time that Billy's mom caught him smoking. When Stu pierced his ear or bleached his hair or when Billy got a bad haircut. When Stu nearly crashed his car and Billy had to ride his bike with Stu on the back. That time when Billy got so drunk that his father found out and they had a fight so he stormed out and went to Stu's place instead. Their secret spot on the outskirts. Billy's 16 birthday and that spin the bottle game, when Stu ended up kissing so many girls but he was thinking about Billy the whole time. The summer of 1992. Later in 1992 when Candyman came out and they watched it together. Billy sleeping badly, going to school looking like he belongs in the Night of the living dead movie with dark circles under his eyes. Them sharing a carton of apple juice. Them sharing a joint before gym class. Them kissing under the bleachers. Stu writing stupid notes, giving them to Billy in the middle of Biology class. The hole in one of the pockets of Stu's backpack. Them fantasizing about getting a degree in film school. Stu's scrapped knees after falling off his skateboard. The summer heat. Them living in the age of boredom, lonely afternoons and spending not so lonely nights together, drinking in a corner next to the gas station. The fear of never making it out of Woodsboro. Billy secretly stealing a CD from Stu's room and never giving it back. The anxiety that comes with the thought of getting older. A first kiss. The second kiss. The argument before the third kiss. Billy's 3 AM void, Stu's 4 AM frenzy when Billy calls him. A stroll in the woods at night on the Halloween day. That time when Stu 'ran away' from his home and no one looked out for him. Them making out to a Smashing Pumpkins song (courtesy of Billy).

#stuilly #scream is a coming of age movie besides the horror #scream 1996 #billy loomis #stu macher #teens being teens guys being dudes

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w1cked-w1tch · 2 years ago

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Am I the only one who's never hated Mayuri? 💀

I've probably said this before but. The funny thing about Mayuri Shower Scene is when I first saw it, I was absolutely full-in on hating him and was like 'huh whatever, so he's a kawaii anime boy, not gonna change MY mind'

Years later I look back on it like🤦‍♂️

*to be fair, it was the fucking Bount arc fight that really did it, god it's so poorly animated but he kicks a TON of ass, definitely the highlight of that arc*

#i definitely acknowledged that hes an asshole when I was younger #but I never hated him for it lmao #that probably says a lot about me 💀#the thirst was a new development when I started my recent bleach marathon

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a-den-of-demons · 14 days ago

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New muses

Mashu Kyrielight (Fate); Shy, Hopeful, Kind; Submissive

Height: 5'1"

Cup Size: DD Cup

Kinks: Praise, Soft Sex, Defeat Sex

Forms: Human Hunter

Orihime (Bleach); Kind, Loving, Determined; Submissive

Height: 5'2"

Bust Size: F Cup

Kinks: Monsterfucker, loves being manhandled and commanded

Forms: Human Mage

Leliana (Dragon Age): Religious, Cunning, Deceptive; Switch

Height: 5'7"

Cup Size: D Cup

Kinks: Oral, Getting covered in Cum, Marathon Sex

Forms: Human Hunter

Isabela (Dragon Age)- Sultry, Playful, Cunning; Switch

Height: 5'8"

Bust Size: E Cup

Kinks: Gangbangs, Titfucks, Playful Banter

Forms: Human Hunter

Bethany (Dragon Age)- Gentle, Understanding, Protective; Submissive

Height: 5'6"

Bust Size: DD Cup

Kinks: Riding, Sensitive breasts, Anal

Forms: Human Mage

Merrill (Dragon Age): Inquisitive, Naive, Nervous; Sub

Height: 5'3"

Bust Size: D Cup

Kinks: Degrading, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style

Forms: Mage

Dejah Thoris (John Carter)- Seductive, Intelligent, Brave; Dominant

Height: 5'5"

Bust Size: DD Cup

Kinks: Worship, Teasing, Marking

Form: Human Hunter

#new muses

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stars-n-spice · 7 months ago

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Recently had a LOTR/The Hobbit marathon with the siblings so have TBB watching LOTR/The Hobbit headcanons:

Once or twice a year they'll sit down and have these marathons - usually while also eating a big Hobbit-styled meal

First started with Echo wanting to show Omega the movies and while they were watching them together, the rest of the Batch came to sit and watch too

Crosshair at first was like "Tch. Nerds, you like this shit?" and then Aragorn popped onto the screen and suddenly Crosshair was very invested (in the plot, of course)

Wrecker enjoys it for the action and thinks the Elves are cool while Hunter watches it because they all watch it and he doesn't want to be left out (he has no idea what's going on but Tech keeps him informed and updated)

Crosshair has a crush on Aragorn while Wrecker has a crush on Lady Arwen

Hunter attempted to bleach his hair ONCE because Legolas inspired him (it did not go well)

Crosshair took up archery because of Legolas and is very good at it

Tech: "Did you know in this scene, Viggo-"

Omega always quotes the "I am no man" scene before immediately attacking the nearest brother to her with a pillow

Hunter will also quote the war speeches Theoden and Aragorn give before riding out into battle and only Omega and Wrecker find it entertaining (they'll scream "DEAAATHH!!" after him)

Echo and Tech are the only ones who've read the books (Omega is in the process but it's a struggle)

Crosshair totally does not get emotional over Faramir and Boromir - oh no definitely no he doesn't cry when Faramir asks his dad if he'd rather he died over Boromir

Actually they are all emotional over Boromir's death

Also for that matter, Crosshair totally does not get super emotional over Samwise and how utterly loyal he is to Frodo - nope definitely not!

They play "take a shot every time Pippin fucks up something" while watching

Every time there's an Orc on the screen they'll point at each other and go "That's you." or "Wow, I can't believe you're in this movie too."

Y'know that scene in Helm's Deep when Aragorn comes through the door?? Yeah. Crosshair nearly fainted.

Gollum freaks Wrecker the fuck out and Crosshair revels in this fact because he can do the voice

When Omega saw the Hobbit for the first time she was so upset about Killi dying that she didn't talk to Tech and Echo for a few days because she was like, "Why would you make me watch this?? >:'( That was so sad!!"

for that matter Wrecker was also crying when Killi died and then Bilbo's reaction to Thorin's death had all of them crying/tearing up

Crosshair hates watching the Hobbit because everyone always brings up how much him and Bilbo are alike (in terms of sass)

Though that one scene in BotFA where Bilbo is showing Thorin the acorn and talking about planting it, the first time Crosshair saw that and saw how Thorin was looking at Bilbo the man fucking melted and now holds all potential partners to that standard (and to Aragorn)

Tech: "Well, now that we've finished watching the entire series, who wants to watch the extended cut?" - "THERE'S MORE!?!"

Feel free to add on!

#love these movies #can only watch them like twice a year though #because once i watch one i have to watch the rest of them #and they're so fucking long #but i love them #more specifically i love aragorn #i'm going to fight crosshair for him #tbb #the bad batch #tbb headcanons #clone force 99 #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #lotr #the hobbit

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un-love · 1 year ago

Text

the next time you meet them

a/n: for my carats and deobis <3 this is entirely fictional! (that's a given) pls reblog

🖇️ he stares at you across the table, eyes half lidded from all the wine he’s downed. the previously inviting chatter around the table is all noise to him; he can't be bothered to avert his gaze from your face. he hadn't planned on drinking at all that night, but seeing you so close to him, on another man’s arm changed that. a familiar burn rises in his throat. goosebumps line his skin, almost mocking him as he sees your fingers linger on this dude’s arm. what did you see in him? the only time his eyes leave your face is to ask for another drink. (jeonghan / younghoon)

🖇️ he smiles at you, but not before considering sprinting in the opposite direction. it's not as hard as he had imagined, he tells himself, except his heart feels like it just ran a five mile marathon and his ears are ringing. you smile back at him, oblivious to the whirlwind your presence evoked on an otherwise warm sunday afternoon, and he catches sight of the front tooth you chipped on his television set. ah. the day you had moved in together. five months after, you had kicked him out. his heart knows how to put itself back together now, after hundreds of failed attempts. (seokmin / kevin)

🖇️ you have bloodshot eyes and his hand reaches around your waist to steady you instinctively. no one bats an eye when you lean into his touch and tell him you’ve always loved how he smelled, and did he change his perfume recently? this is what friends do, isn’t it? that is what he is to you, after all? (cheol / sangyeon)

🖇️ saturdays are game nights for your mutual friend group. so the fact that you had spent the previous night projectile vomiting on your bathroom floor, or the fact that he was wasted beyond comprehension, resulting in a terrible hangover had to be kept aside to protect a previously well-kept secret. the pit in your stomach gets deeper every time the warm sound of his laugh reaches your ears, body aching to be touched by him. he leaves early. (jun / changmin)

🖇️ he has freshly bleached hair. you know this because he’s at your doorstep. he’s at your doorstep? hope is a home in your chest, immediately crumbled by the look on his face. is he not here for you? “i wanted to come get my stuff. it wouldn't be fair for you to have reminders of me everywhere.” oh. (chan / chanhee)

🖇️ standing infront of the café you’ve been avoiding for the most part of the year, you try to convince yourself you're seeing things in places they aren’t. through the glass window, dark brown eyes catch you. pretty eyes, heavy with confusion (or is it guilt on his face?) attached to a face so familiar it makes your breath hitch. the images come in flashes. hand squeezes, midnight snacks (waffles), one green apple mojito + two straws, butterfly kisses, promise rings, forgotten birthdays, muffled sobs, untouched food, promise rings taken off. too much, too fast. heartache can only be described as a knife lodged in your sternum. (soonyoung)

🖇️ years have passed. he doesn't recognize you, or simply refuses to acknowledge you. either way, your skin tingles with nostalgia when he gets into the elevator after you. they say certain scents can evoke the strongest memories. from your spot, you can trace the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the apples of his cheeks with your eyes. everything is just as you remember it. silver glints on one of his fingers as he lifts his phone to one ear. well, maybe not everything. he was your first love, that's all. (joshua / juyeon)

🖇️ if someone told you the first boy you fell in love with was going to walk up to you, ten years later in the auditorium where you first kissed him, just to tell you how beautiful you look, you would've laughed in their face. but here he was now, (in a blazer, instead of a bomber jacket, but) as exquisite as ever, and after two glasses of wine, you let yourself wonder how his smile would feel against your mouth. i think i’ve seen this film before. would it be so bad to let him break your heart again? (vernon / sunwoo)

🖇️ the thing about weddings is they make you feel nostalgic about things that could poison you (namely, relationships). so when you spot him in the distance, the groom’s closest friend and your former lover, you can’t help but long for everything that once was, everything that could have been. the warmth of his skin against your cold hands, his arms around your waist as he whisks you away for a dance, the vision of his freshly curled hair between your thighs. whoops. (wonwoo / hyunjae)

🖇️ he stands at your doorstep, drenched. water drips from his hair and clothes onto your welcome mat. “i thought about you all day, about how lonely these twenty four hours can get for you. it’s almost midnight, but i had to come, even when the rational part of me advocated that i don’t have the right to do this for you, not anymore. but i wanted you to know that i care, no matter what happened between us. happy birthday. i’m sorry.” (seungkwan / eric)

🖇️ a freezing christmas eve. looks like he hasn’t let go of this habit of always waiting till the last moment to pick up christmas presents. for the years that you were together, you made sure to get it done on time. seeing him now, two winters later, borderline panicking on the other side of the store makes you laugh (and reminisce, and dream). maybe you should go over and h- you’re frozen in place when an arm slides around his waist. he pulls her closer as you watch, heart thumping against your ribcage when he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. bells jingle as you leave the coziness of the store for the biting cold. you must've been mistaken. that's not the man you knew. (woozi)

🖇️ you bump into him the day you move into a new building. he gives you a smile that makes his eyes soften and watches as you break in two. “oh, i live here too.” what if you had loved him out loud? set free the words rolled under your tongue? what if you had hooked your fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer? regret tastes like four glasses of wine at your own housewarming party, with eyes fixed on the door. do you believe in second chances? (minghao / haknyeon)

🖇️ the years have been super kind to him but you can see the hints of ageing on his otherwise flawless skin. his smile, velvet and butter, still floods the room with warmth. or maybe just the entirety of you, as he sits next to you on the couch. it’s silly, the effect he still has. you can't help but be jealous of all the moments of him the hands of the clock stole from you. all of the tears and smiles you weren't next to him for. his hands, once soft in yours, are now calloused and rough. his hair, the shortest you've seen it. he shifts closer to you, as if sensing the turmoil. and when his hand grazes yours, electricity shoots through your fingertips. he’s here now. maybe the thoughts can wait. (mingyu / jacob)

bonus:

🖇️ you have a visitor. you open your home to him once again, leading him out to the balcony. the sky is an angry pink, the plants looking warily at who the evening brought in. “look, i’m sorry for not believing you. for pushing you out and leaving you behind. you didn’t deserve that. you're like…the fucking sun and i envy people who see that and get to be loved by you. i don’t get to be bitter, do i? i had it and i lost it. had you and i lost you. let me be yours again.” you wake up to his side of the bed still empty. was he dreaming of you too?

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