#but I don't write for everyone. I write for me

[nerdycheol]

Saltwater Sins || seungcheol, joshua, dk

pairings: dk x seungcheol x joshua x afab!reader summary: years of almosts and not-quites finally ignite on a maldives trip with your three closest friends — where the only thing hotter than the sun is the tension you can’t ignore anymore. wc: 4.7k genre: pwp/ smut smut warnings: nsfw (MDNI), p in v, multiple rounds, hair pulling, dirty talk, oral(f receiving), cumplay, creampie, anal fingering, overstimulation, double penetration, spanking, degradation, cunnilingus, anal, body worship, aftercare (lmk if i missed anything)

a/n: it’s officially my time to go to horny jail. half-naked svt will be the death of me, i swear. my brain hasn’t functioned properly since those pics dropped and not writing smut after seeing them would've been the real crime. huge thank you to cel (@mylovesstuffs) for matching my freak energy and beta-ing this. ilysm 💗

dividers by @strangergraphics

work is difficult. day and night of skimming through reports, sitting through meetings, and having almost no time for yourself. you needed to cool off.

what better way than to go on a trip with your friends?

so when joshua, seokmin, and seungcheol floated the idea of a vacation — somewhere warm, with no responsibilities and plenty of alcohol, you didn’t even hesitate. the four of you had been talking about it for months, and somehow, miraculously, everyone’s schedules finally aligned.

maldives is fun, beachy, sunny — everything to help take your minds off things. the water’s clear, the drinks are cold, and your biggest concern is whether to swim before or after your third mimosa.

and when your view includes three half-naked men with zero shame and way too much confidence? oh, scrumptious vacation.

you reach maldives after a long, painful 18-hour flight. exhausted, slightly dehydrated, but buzzing with the idea of doing absolutely nothing for the next few days.

you’d rented a villa just beside the beach — private, peaceful, and stupidly pretty. it looked exactly like the pictures, which felt like a small miracle in itself. joshua doesn't even wait to rest and removes his shirt and dives straight into the sea. he rises to the surface after a few seconds — hair sticking to his forehead, wet, and his shorts sticking way too well to his thighs.

fuck. you shake your head, like that would somehow make the image disappear. you mutter something about needing to unpack and hurry inside, pretending like your brain isn’t already betraying you.

seungcheol follows you. he lugs in a couple of bags, drops them carelessly by the wall, and immediately makes himself at home — stretching like he’s just run a marathon, then flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

he spreads his legs. manspreads, really. like the couch owes him space. arms draped over the backrest, head tilted like he owns the place.

“you good?” he asks, glancing at you with that lazy smile. the one that’s gotten him out of actual consequences more times than you can count.

no, you are not good. not when his shirt rides up slightly and you catch a sliver of skin. not when he looks that comfortable in his own body.

you force a nod. “yeah. great.”

liar.

the rest of the day is…quite uneventful.

well not really. while the boys run straight into vacation mode — playing beachball, yelling over rules that don't exist, and somehow turning it into a full-on wrestling match in the water; you decide to sunbathe.

a peaceful choice. relaxing. calm.

except the view wasn’t exactly PG.

wet hair, bare chests, muscles flexing way too dramatically over a plastic ball, water glistening on skin that had no business looking that good under the sun.

you aren't even pretending to read anymore. just lying there on your towel, sunglasses on, trying to look unaffected while watching what could only be described as a thirst trap in motion.

delectable, honestly.

but after a while, it had gone suspiciously quiet. no yelling, no splashing, no chaotic screams over who cheated in beachball.

you lower your sunglasses just a little, eyes scanning the shoreline — only to find all three of them walking toward you in sync like some kind of hot boy band comeback.

you sit up instantly. “what.”

seokmin’s the first to speak, his voice all sunshine and mischief. “hey. you enjoying yourself?”

your eyes narrow. “…yes?”

joshua steps in beside him, flashing that deceptively innocent smile of his. “want to enjoy more?”

you barely get the chance to squint in confusion before a strong arm wraps around your waist.

“wait— wait, no—”

you are slung over seungcheol’s shoulder like a rag doll, the towel falling from your lap as he marches toward the ocean like a man on a mission.

“seungcheol!” you yell, squirming violently. “put me down!”

he doesn’t slow. doesn’t even flinch when you start pounding on his back, or when your palm smacks flat against his ass with a sharp thwack. if anything, he laughs.

“you sure you’re not enjoying this?” he teases.

“i swear to god, if you drop me, i’ll—”

he drops you.

one second you are yelling, the next you are underwater, surrounded by a burst of bubbles and betrayal. you come up gasping, hair clinging to your face, already shivering from the sudden shock.

“you absolute assholes!” you shout, wiping water from your eyes.

the three of them are doubled over on the sand, cackling like this is the funniest thing they’ve seen all year. they don’t even try to hide it.

you flip them off with both hands, still panting. “i hope jellyfish sting all of you.”

seokmin is the first to dive in after you, laughter spilling out of him. joshua follows with a dramatic splash. seungcheol strolls in last— smug, unbothered, like he hasn't just commit a full war crime.

you want to stay mad. really, you do. but when all three of them surround you in the water and start splashing like chaotic children, you burst out laughing before you can stop yourself.

by the time the sun starts to set, casting the beach in soft gold and cotton-candy pink, the chaos of the afternoon has settled into something calmer. the four of you are gathered around a bonfire, legs tucked into blankets, drinks in hand, the sound of waves lapping quietly in the background. seokmin connects a speaker, soft music playing in the background, and for the first time since arriving, it feels like you're really on vacation.

the fire crackles between you, sending warm flickers of light across their faces — catching in joshua’s lashes, the curve of seokmin’s smile, the sharp line of seungcheol’s jaw. you try not to stare. you fail miserably.

a few drinks in, with your feet buried in the cool sand and your head pleasantly fuzzy, seokmin claps his hands and declares that it’s time for truth or dare. and of course, no one says no.

the first few rounds are harmless. mild. someone has to sing. someone else has to reenact their most embarrassing drunken memory. you laugh until your stomach hurts, the buzz of alcohol and fire making everything feel lighter than it is.

and then joshua turns to you, his expression innocent in the most suspicious way possible. he leans back on one arm, cradling his drink, and asks, “truth. have you ever found any of us attractive?”

you freeze. your drink pauses halfway to your lips. it’s an easy question to dodge. but for whatever reason, maybe it’s the alcohol — you don’t dodge.

“yes,” you say, simply.

seokmin blinks. “wait, like... one of us?”

you look him right in the eye. “no. all of you. i want all of you.”

you don’t really know why you say the last part, but that shuts them up. for a second, at least.

then seokmin laughs, stunned. joshua raises his brows, clearly amused. seungcheol’s gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t say anything.

you try to act unfazed, but you can feel the shift in the air — the way all three of them are looking at you now, just a little differently. like they’re seeing something they weren’t allowed to before.

joshua laughs, but there’s a ragged edge to it. “You’re serious?”

you swallow, heart hammering. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

the flames of the bonfire crackle behind you, warm against your back, but it’s nothing compared to the heat rolling off them now. 

“fuck,” he murmurs, voice low and tight. “you really know how to set us off.”

seungcheol still hasn’t moved. still hasn’t spoken. just watching you with that dangerous, calculating look, as if he’s deciding what to do next. finally, he shifts forward, elbows on his knees: “say it again.”

you hesitate, then you repeat, “i want all of you.”

a moment of perfect, breathless silence.

then seungcheol stands up. he holds out a hand, steady and sure, no questions in his eyes anymore. “come here.”

your legs feel like water, but you obey, slipping your fingers into his. he pulls you up, guiding you off the sand, joshua and seokmin following behind.

joshua’s hand comes to rest at the small of your back, reassuring and possessive all at once. “we’ll take care of you,” he promises, voice gone husky.

your breath catches, tension coiling low in your belly as the atmosphere shifts. 

joshua steps in first, fingers reaching up to brush your hair from your face. his touch is gentle, careful — but his eyes are anything but. “say the word,” he murmurs. “we’ll stop if you want us to.”

you glance at all of them. seungcheol is standing near the bar, watching you like he’s been holding back all night. seokmin’s already closer, his eyes flicking to your mouth. joshua, in front of you now, so close his breath brushes your cheek.

you nod. once. “don’t stop.”

joshua kisses you first. slow, like he’s testing what you’ll allow — but you don’t want to hold back. your hands slide into his hair, fingers tugging slightly, and he groans against your mouth.

then seokmin’s behind you, arms slipping around your waist as he presses a kiss to your neck, and your knees almost give.

“fuck, you smell good,” he mumbles, lips trailing just below your ear. “you’ve been driving me insane all day.”

you feel another presence — seungcheol, finally stepping in. his hand comes up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“how do you want this?” he asks, voice low and steady. “you tell us.”

you blink up at him, breathless. “i want you all over me.”

“fuck,” seokmin says behind you. “this is really happening.”

“no backing out now,” joshua murmurs, smiling as he kisses down your jaw.

then everything blurs — hands tugging at clothes, laughter mixed with groans, mouths everywhere. someone lifts you, someone else pulls your shirt over your head, and soon you’re being laid down on the oversized couch, bodies pressing in from every side.

you feel joshua’s lips on your chest, soft and reverent, while seokmin is sliding his fingers along your thighs, eyes wide with awe like he’s never seen anything prettier.

seungcheol kneels beside you, one hand wrapped around your jaw, the other sliding slowly down your stomach. “you’re still sure?” he asks again.

you don’t answer with words and just grab his wrist and guide his hand lower.

seungcheol’s mouth twitches at your answer — or lack thereof — when you guide his hand lower, letting your hips roll up into his palm.

“needy already?” he mutters, fingers slipping between your legs over your damp bottoms. “figures. all that attitude earlier — guess you just needed someone to fuck it out of you.”

your breath hitches. before you can even think of something smart to say, joshua tugs your shorts down your legs, tossing them somewhere across the room.

“she’s soaked,” joshua murmurs, his tone almost reverent. “and we’ve barely touched her.”

seokmin groans behind you. “fuck, i want her mouth.”

“then take it,” seungcheol says, voice hard now, like he’s not here to play anymore.

seokmin’s hand forms a fist in your hair in the next second, yanking your head back just enough to make you gasp. his cock is already out — hard, flushed, leaking — and he presses it to your lips, grinning down at you.

“open up, sweetheart. no more hiding behind those pretty little eyes.”

he groans the second you wrap your lips around him, pushing deep with no hesitation. his hand stays tangled in your hair, controlling the pace, dragging you down on his cock until your eyes water.

“shit, look at her,” joshua breathes, kneeling beside your thighs now. “so fucking desperate. you like being used, don’t you?”

you moan around seokmin’s cock, hips jerking upward because now seungcheol’s fingers are slipping inside you, thick and rough and fast.

joshua leans in and spits right on your pussy, spreading it with two fingers while seungcheol still pumps you open. “i want her dripping down my cock,” he mutters. “i want to hear her cry for it.”

seokmin lets out a choked laugh above you. “she’s already crying, hyung. look at her.”

tears stream down your cheeks from how deep he’s fucking your mouth, the wet squelch of fingers between your legs echoing in the room, your body squirming — helpless, overwhelmed, and loving every filthy second.

then it all moves fast.

you are flipped on your knees, cheeks hot, ass in the air. seungcheol delivers the first slap hard, loud, making you yelp and clench around nothing.

“don’t whine,” he snaps, rubbing the sting in. “you wanted this. all of us, remember?”

“yeah,” joshua laughs, lining up behind you now. “you said it so sweet. ‘i want all of you.’ little attention whore.”

you don’t get a chance to argue, not when joshua sinks into you in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

you scream — or you try to, but seokmin’s already pushing back into your mouth.

double stuffed. one in your mouth, one in your cunt, and one more still waiting.

“look at her,” seungcheol mutters, stroking himself now as he watches from the front. “fucking made for this.”

you’re already shaking. joshua’s pace is brutal, slamming into you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips. seokmin keeps your head in place, fucking your throat with no mercy.

“gonna stretch that tight little ass too,” seungcheol says, leaning down behind you. “think you can take it, baby?”

you try to nod, eyes wide and wet.

he spits on his fingers and starts working them into your ass, slow at first — then faster when he feels how easily you’re giving in.

“so fucking filthy,” he growls. “what a perfect fucking toy.”

you don’t know how you’re still conscious when joshua pulls out, only to be replaced by seungcheol behind you. joshua’s hand fists your hair again, lifting your head.

“you wanted all of us?” he says, voice rough. “then take all of us.”

seokmin’s still down your throat. seungcheol’s cock presses into your ass, slow, stretching you impossibly wide.

and then joshua slides into your pussy again.

both of them inside you.

you let out a muffled scream around seokmin’s cock.

you’re not even sure what you're saying anymore — the sounds coming from your mouth are nothing but muffled moans, choked and wet around seokmin’s cock. your jaw aches, your throat burns, but he doesn’t let up.

“shit,” he mutters, his grip tightening in your hair. “gonna fucking cum down your throat. you want that?”

you try to nod, eyes rolling back as you gag around him.

he groans, hips stuttering, and then he holds you down on him, cock buried deep in your throat.

“take it. fucking take it,” he growls.

and then you feel it — hot spurts spilling straight down your throat, thick and messy. he holds you there, cock twitching, groaning like he’s never felt anything better.

you swallow instinctively, tears slipping down your cheeks. he finally pulls out with a grunt, your lips swollen and wet, chin slick with spit and cum.

“fuck, look at you,” he breathes, dragging his thumb over your mouth. “so pretty when you’re ruined.”

joshua’s still fucking into you, hard and fast, every thrust punching sounds out of your mouth. you’re stretched and used, your body trembling between them, but he’s not done.

“she’s still tight,” he pants, grabbing your hips and slamming into you deeper. “still fucking milking my cock like she wants more.”

“gonna fill this pussy up,” he growls, pace growing erratic. “gonna make you leak all over the fucking floor.”

“do it,” seungcheol urges from behind, watching as he thrusts into your ass while joshua takes your pussy. “fill her up. she can take it.”

you’re so close to falling apart again, and then joshua lets out a sharp moan, thrusts one last time, and cums.

his hips stutter, cock pulsing deep inside you as he spills everything — hot and messy, groaning your name like a curse.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—”

you can feel it dripping out of you already, slick and warm and filthy.

joshua collapses forward against your back, panting against your shoulder.

“she’s perfect,” he mutters, breath still shaky. “fucking perfect.”

you don’t even get a moment to breathe before seungcheol growls in your ear —

“don’t go soft now. i’m not done with you yet.”

you barely have time to catch your breath. your body’s limp, jaw sore, your thighs shaking and soaked with a mixture of spit and cum — theirs and yours. you’re half-leaning against the couch, chest rising and falling rapidly, hair a mess across your face. joshua’s breath is still hot on your shoulder, his cum dripping slowly from between your legs.

“fuck, she’s twitching,” seokmin mutters, still sitting on the floor in front of you, lazily stroking himself back to hardness. “you gonna cry again, sweetheart?”

you whimper something incoherent. it doesn’t matter. they’re already working you open again.

joshua shifts beside you, dragging a finger through the mess dripping out of your pussy and pushing it right back in. “can’t waste any of that,” he murmurs, voice sweet but mocking. “she needs it.”

“look at this filthy little cunt,” seungcheol spits, reaching around to slap your clit hard enough to make your legs buckle. “you want another load in you? greedy whore can’t get enough?”

seokmin drags you up by your waist and flips you on your back. 

“can’t wait to try this pussy next,” he says, voice low and dark. “gonna fuck you until you cry.”

and he does — hard and deep, rutting into you with a pace that has your mouth falling open in a soundless moan.

joshua kneels beside your head, grinning like he’s found his favourite toy. 

he grabs your jaw, thumb swiping across your swollen lower lip.

“she looks fucked stupid already,” he mutters, voice dripping with pride. “let’s see how much more she can take.”

you open your mouth for him.

he slides his cock past your lips less harshly than seokmin did — letting you feel every inch, every vein, groaning when your tongue moves against him.

“yeah, just like that,” he breathes. “so fucking pretty like this.”

seungcheol leans over the back of the couch, one hand wrapping around your throat as seokmin pounds into you.

“how’s it feel?” he growls into your ear. “being passed around like this? like a little toy for us to use?”

you moan pathetically, muffled by joshua’s cock, your body jolting with every rough thrust joshua drives into you.

“can’t even answer anymore,” seungcheol laughs.

you don’t even care. your mind’s gone. all you can do is suck and moan and cum again as seokmin hits that spot inside you with ruthless precision.

“she’s squeezing me so hard,” seokmin gasps, pace stuttering. “fuck, she’s gonna make me—”

and then he groans — loud, raw — as he cums deep inside you, hips jerking forward as he fills you.

joshua’s not far behind. he pulls out at the last second, fisting his cock quickly and he cums across your chest. 

your legs barely work anymore. your whole body trembles, slick and sore and marked up from head to toe. seokmin is still half-sprawled on the couch beside you, lazy and smug, his cum leaking out of you in slow, hot drips. joshua is sitting across from you, shirtless, still catching his breath, watching you with a wide grin and glazed eyes like he just witnessed something holy.

but it’s not over. not until seungcheol says it is.

he’s still standing above you, hard as ever, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other sliding down your ruined thigh. he crouches between your legs, eyes drinking you in — fucked-out, flushed, your chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate breaths.

“look at you,” he mutters, thumb swiping between your folds, gathering the mess the other two left behind. “cum dripping out of this hole like it’s starving.”

you whimper, legs twitching as he presses two fingers back inside you. you're stretched and sensitive, your body jolting with every curl of his hand.

behind him, joshua hums, “she still wants more?”

seungcheol growls as he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “they already used you up. and you still want more?”

you whine, your fingers fisting in the couch cushions.

“say it,” he commands.

you choke out, “want you.”

he pulls his fingers out, sucks them clean, and then lines himself up. he thrusts all the way in. your legs fly open as your body locks up under him. 

joshua lets out a low whistle. “fuck, look at her face.”

“she’s gone,” seokmin laughs. “hyung is gonna break her.”

and he does. his pace is brutal, unrelenting, fucking into you like your cunt belongs to him and only him. your body arches, nails drag down his back, and your moans dissolve into broken sobs.

“so fuckin’ messy,” he grits out. “so full, and still clenching around me like a needy slut.”

you try to speak — to beg him or thank him or tell him you’re going to cum again. but all that comes out is a desperate gasp, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“that’s it, baby. you’re doing great!” his hips snap harder.

your climax hits out of nowhere — explosive, gut-wrenching, ripping through you like lightning. your back arches violently, a scream torn from your throat as your body clamps down around him.

“fuck, that’s it.” seungcheol moans, losing control as he thrusts harder, faster, chasing his own high through your convulsing cunt. “gonna fill you up. give you every last fucking drop.”

and when he cums it’s rough — he slams in deep, cock twitching, hot spurts spilling into you while he growls your name against your neck.

he stays there for a second, buried deep, your legs still shaking around him.

joshua hums, amused. “think she passed out.”

seungcheol pulls back slowly, looking down at the mess between your legs — his cum and theirs leaking out of you, your thighs trembling, your body twitching from overstimulation.

“you took it so fucking well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you feel like jelly now. muscles aching, lips swollen, thighs sticky and sore in the best way. the air’s heavy with sex and sweat and heat, yet no one’s moving away.

you lie back on the cushion, chest rising and falling unevenly, and they… just look at you. like they’ve never seen anything more beautiful. 

seokmin is the first to move. he leans in and kisses your shoulder, then one just above your collarbone, then another on the curve of your jaw.

“hi,” he whispers against your skin, lips curling into a smile. “still alive?”

you manage a breathy laugh. “barely.”

“good.” he kisses you again. “we’ll keep it that way.”

joshua shifts beside you, dragging his fingertips up and down your thigh, slow and gentle, before leaning down to kiss your hip.

“you okay?” he murmurs.

you turn your head toward him, reaching to tangle your fingers in his hair. “i’m perfect.”

he grins, then leans in and kisses you slowly.

seungcheol’s hand rests on your stomach. he watches the two of you kiss for a moment, then leans in and steals one of his own. 

he kisses you deeper, firm but gentle — never taking more than you give.

“can i hold you?” he asks courteously. “while i’m inside?”

you nod immediately.

he pulls you gently onto his lap, easing you down over his cock with slow aching patience. there’s no rush, no pressure, just the stretch of him filling you again and the quiet gasp you let out as your arms wrap around his neck.

his lips find yours again, a little hungrier this time. his hands roam your back, your hips, your spine like he can’t stop touching you.

joshua moves behind you, peppering kisses along your neck, your shoulder then down your back. seokmin joins, his mouth pressing against your chest, your ribs, your stomach. every part of you that trembles under their touch gets kissed like worship.

“i feel like i’m dreaming,” seokmin admits, his voice muffled against your skin. “you’re going to ruin everyone else for me.”

seungcheol holds you like you are fragile now, his cock buried deep inside but barely moving — just enough to keep you full.

“you feel it?” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

“everywhere,” you breathe.

slow rolls of seungcheol’s hips. joshua’s lips dragging up your spine. seokmin’s kisses laid over your chest, your throat, your cheek.

your eyes flutter shut. your mouth finds whoever leans in first — joshua maybe, then seokmin, then seungcheol. 

“can you cum one more time?” seungcheol asks, voice rough from holding back. “for us?”

you nod, chest tight.

his hand slides between you, thumb circling your clit slow, maddening motions.

“let go for us, baby.” joshua whispers into your ear. “you are so fucking good for us.”

you break again, coming around seungcheol with a quiet cry, clinging to his shoulder as he groans and finally lets go inside of you, filling you with a trembling gasp against your neck.

you don’t know how long you lie there, half-sprawled against seungcheol’s chest, with joshua stretched out beside you, his hand lazily draws circles into your thigh, and seokmin curled against your side like a contented cat.

no one speaks for a while. your body is buzzing — overstimulated and sore, but in the best way. your lips are swollen, your thighs sticky, your chest covered in love bites and lazy kisses. your skin feels too warm, like you’ve been sun-drunk and sex-drunk all at once.

then joshua breaks the silence with a soft laugh. “well. that happened.”

you groan and bury your face in seungcheol’s neck. “don’t say it like that.”

“you mean… like we didn’t just absolutely destroy you?” seokmin teases, brushing his knuckles along your ribs. “because we did. and you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.”

“i feel it now.” you mutter.

“bath,” seungcheol says quietly, voice gravelly against your cheek. “you need one.”

he doesn’t ask, just moves. lifts you effortlessly off his chest. joshua and seokmin follow, groaning as they stretch and stumble toward the bathroom, like you’re all a little tipsy on each other.

the tub fills while you sit on the edge, wrapped in one of joshua’s shirts — the first thing someone pulled over you, soft and worn and smelling like him. you blink slowly, dazed, as seokmin adjusts the temperature and seungcheol pours something that smells like lavender into the water.

“she’s still floaty,” joshua murmurs, kissing your shoulder as he crouches behind you. “you good?”

you nod, sleepily. “mm. warm.”

“good,” he smiles. “we’ll take care of the rest.”

they help you into the tub once it’s ready — hands gentle, murmurs soft. joshua sits behind you, pulling you against his chest, while seokmin starts washing your arms with slow, soapy strokes, making little bubbles just to kiss them off your shoulder.

seungcheol kneels beside the tub, running his palm over your thigh, your folds, your foot. he presses a kiss to your knee and mutters, “you did so good for us.”

you hum quietly, eyes fluttering shut. “you guys are being weirdly sweet now.”

“what, you want us to degrade you after we fill you with cum?” seokmin snorts.

“kinda,” you mumble, and they all laugh — soft, affectionate.

the rest of the bath is quiet. peaceful. joshua rubs your shoulders. seokmin starts humming something under his breath. seungcheol brings you a bottle of water and a clean towel and kisses your temple without a word.

by the time they help you into bed, you’re already half asleep — hair damp, skin warm, clean clothes sticking slightly to your freshly washed skin.

you crawl under the covers and instantly feel joshua slide in beside you, followed by seokmin on your other side. seungcheol takes the last space — his arm over your waist, his chest to your back, his breath even against your neck.

“you’re staying here, right?” joshua asks quietly.

you smile into the pillow. “where else would i go?”

you close your eyes, sinking into the warmth of their bodies, but your mind doesn’t stop. 

how the hell is the rest of this trip supposed to go now? sharing cocktails by the pool like you didn’t have all of them inside you hours ago?

how do you go back to spreadsheets and small talk when you’ve just discovered that your new normal might involve three sinfully attractive men and way too few clothes?

you’re not sure.

but right now, wrapped up in their arms, you don’t really care.

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[bedupolker]

How are you so good at art and comics and characters but it's not even a professional profession of yours? (can it be that hobbies and skills don't necessarily need to be monitized?)

Thank you! I still feel like I have a lot to learn, haha. I did study animation in college but that's not really my calling, I can't spend 40 (or more!!!) hours a week in front of a computer. As I get older I don't regret it. I'm a little guilty of overworking in certain contexts, but I'm not sacrificing my health or social life for a tiny shot at storyboarding for The Minions 6. (And if I did dedicate myself to that, I almost definitely wouldn't be spending my free time drawing.)

I remember I had some kind of portfolio development class and the professor made a comment telling us to like, stop going to parties and playing video games and just to dedicate ourselves to our art. Maybe that kind of advice to just lock in is helpful for a certain kind of person, but if you're an artist/writer, especially someone who might be young, if you're able, maybe also consider:

Engage with eclectic interests outside of the type of art you want to make. If you want to make an action-adventure comic and your only source of inspiration is Fullmetal Alchemist and Spiderverse, yes those are very good stories and it's understandable they could be a source of inspiration to you, but honestly, most people would probably just go and read/watch Fullmetal Alchemist or Spiderverse. Now if someone wanted to make an action-adventure comic and they had a weird amount of knowledge about technical canyoneering or Korean horror movies or vintage cars or emo-rap music or cubist art or endangered birds endemic to new zealand, now I kind of want to see what that's all about.

Researching the sources of inspiration of art you love is a good jumping off point too. A lot of great stories are more grounded than you'd think, and going out and looking for new things that interest you keeps it from feeling too "incestuous" for lack of a better term.

Try and connect with different kinds of people you wouldn't meet otherwise. Most people are nicer than you think, most people like talking about themselves, and everyone you'll ever meet knows something you don't.

Frankly between social media and living through the covid years, I just think it'd be good for a lot of peoples' mental health to realize there's a world outside of whatever hyperspecific fandom or internet mirocosm or whatever you find yourself falling into.

Try to have a new experience every week. You don't have to blow tons of money and free time to throw into climbing Everest or partying in Barcelona or whatever, just walk home a different way, try volunteering for an organization that you care about, listen to a weird genre of music, hop onto youtube and try some yoga or calisthenics or something. You don't even have to like it, just give it a shot.

Find beauty in the mundane... birds, bugs, alleyways, the light fixture section at Home Depot, it's all there.

Done is better than Perfect

Maybe it's easy for me to say as an artist who has a pretty decent sized following but FR FR don't do just things because you think they'll get popular online!!!!! You don't have to broadcast every single thing that you do. Some art/writing is just for experimentation or self indulgence, that's all good too.

[sleepymccoy]

I can remember being in computer class right before history and someone in the last ten minutes mentioned the class presentations we had next period and I was like.. fuck man I fully forgot

So I had a passing knowledge of ww2, as much as anyone, so i figured that I could bluff the context around Churchill and just get some of his details down and I'd be fine.

So I pulled his Wikipedia up and read it. Didn't have time to write a speech, this was gonna be adlib. Then I jumped on google images and pulled a picture that reflected one thing from each of his Wikipedia sections (like, early life (picture of a train set) education (Churchill graduating) early war (you get the idea).

Bunged the pictures into a powerpoint and read the Wikipedia again with the powerpoint alongside, adding subheadings to jog my memory. Pulled a couple links from the bottom of the wiki for the bibliography, opened and skimmed to make sure they weren't wild, and saved the damn thing

We were lining up outside class for history and the guys in the class are telling some classmates about how I'd just smashed out my whole presentation. I asked everyone to let me go first since the knowledge wasn't gonna last long, I was going off having just read Churchill's wiki lol

They all agreed (champions) and one of the girls said she'd read up on Churchill a bit on her presentation about the Queen, so she promised to nod or shake her head if I was completely wrong.

I presented. I know I spent a minute on each slide and spoke relevantly. I remember at one point saying Churchill excelled in school, saw my classmate was shaking her head, and pivoted to say he didn't do well with formal education but got into some of the extracurricular activities that'd benefit him come war time. She nodded. I continued lol. One of the lads complimented me on that one afterwards

I don't think I learnt much about Churchill with this study. But I absolutely learnt about public speaking. I was using skills in research and apply my contextual knowledge. I also learnt to rely on classmates, even tho we weren't friends at all she had my back because it was easy and kind and cost her nothing

I got a B+ and a comment about being one of the more engaging and charismatic presenters (that would've been the adrenaline, and my classmates were watching fascinated to see if I could pull it off lol).

The main perk of my presentation was the energy, which wouldn't've been there if I'd ai'd a script to read. And I wouldn't have this fun memory

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

[kaidoslastbraincell]

how it all started / baby saja x reader

When you attend the Huntrix fan signing, you meet someone unexpected...

Pairings: baby saja x zoey fan!reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

You'd been waiting in line for this since the early hours of the morning, with the hopes of being first. Much to your displeasure, a group in sleeping bags had beaten you to it. With a sigh, you slumped against the wall, thumb brushing over the handle of the gift bag in your hands.

The doors opened and everyone rushed in, yourself included. The girls addressed the group in front of you, before they removed their sleeping bags and posed far too pretentiously for those considered the general public in the presence of idols. Huntrix didn't seem to think so though, glaring at them with all the malice of someone who'd been deeply betrayed.

After some debating, Rumi announced that they would be sitting together for the signing and you realised that the boys must have been a new band. Despite everyone else around you looking more than thrilled, you had no idea who they were.

Being next in line, you approached slowly, offering Mira and Rumi small smiles before you turned your attention to Zoey...your idol. She grinned at you, eyes flickering to the decorated bag in your hands.

"Who am I signing for?" she asked sweetly, pulling the cap off her pen and pulling the stack of posters closer.

"Y/N, please," you murmured, cheeks warming as you held the bag out to her, "and this is for you..."

She gasped, eyes sparkling as she gently took it from you.

"For me? You shouldn't have!"

The other girls watched with soft eyes as their friend rummaged through the tissue paper to get to the treats. When she reached the bracelet you'd spent hours making for her, hearts overtook her pupils.

"You got all my favourite snacks!? And this bracelet is SO CUTE!!!"

The mint-green-haired boy had watched you the whole time, eyes keen as he took you in. With a smirk, he leaned over the table.

"Want my autograph, too?"

An awkward smile tugged at your lips as you fidgeted. Fuck he was cute.

"I'm sorry...who are you?"

The other boys at the table gasped so dramatically, you almost rolled your eyes. Huntrix tried - and failed - to contain their laughter.

"Do you live under a rock or something?" a pink-haired boy in a yellow beanie turned in his chair.

Mira smacked the back of his head. "Don't be mean to our fans!"

"It's okay," the dark-haired boy beside Rumi smiled kindly, "we're the Saja Boys. Still new to the scene."

"Oh...well it's nice to meet you...?" You bowed slightly before turning back to Zoey.

She handed you the signed poster, but before you could thank them for their time and be on your way, Mira and Rumi had stretched across the boys beside them with autographs of their own. Your eyes widened.

"Oh, I couldn't! I was only able to buy 1 signing, it wouldn't be fair..."

Rumi waved dismissively. "Nonsense, consider it a thank you for your dedication to our group!"

Taking the offerings slowly, you nodded. "If you're sure..."

Another poster was held out to you. Following the arm, you met the gaze of the green-haired boy. Upon checking the signature, you found that his name was 'Baby', and in tiny writing beneath it was his number. You frowned.

"Thanks?"

You grinned at the girls again, bowing in thanks and walking away. This was not how you'd expected today to go.

Later that night, while you were lying in bed listening to music, your phone buzzed with a flurry of notifications.

(@) zoey_official has followed you

(@) mira_official has followed you

(@) rumi_official has followed you

(@) zoey_official tagged you in a story

"How the hell did they even find my Instagram from just my first name?" you muttered, heart hammering so hard you felt it in your throat.

Then...

(@) abby-saja has followed you

(@) mystery-saja has followed you

(@) romance-saja has followed you

(@) jinu-saja has followed you

(@) baby-saja has followed you

"WHAT-"

(@) baby-saja wants to send you a message

"THE FUCK?"

(@) baby-saja: found you~ cutie <3

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Marvel Superheroes

Pairing(s): marvel superheroes!ateez x female!reader

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Thank you so much, my lovelies, for helping me reach 2.8k followers! To show my appreciation, I'm back with another one of these hehe I'm a big fan of the MCU, and I hope you are too!🫰🏻 Also, I do apologise in advance because only after I started writing did I remember most of these heroes have tragic love stories😭

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Iron Man

• Visionary • Bold • Burdened •

Based on: Tony Stark × Pepper Potts

The rooftop hummed with tension, faint jazz playing below from the afterparty no one really wanted to attend. The evening air was cool against your skin, but the press of Hongjoong's eyes on you felt warmer than the champagne you abandoned minutes ago.

He stood at the edge of his tower, staring out at the city like it held all the answers. His signature suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, tie loosened, and hair messier than usual—a rare, raw version of him few got to see.

This wasn't new. You'd watched him slip out of rooms like this before—countless times. He didn't care for the forced glamour of galas or the hollow praise from politicians who barely understood what he did. To the world, he was Iron Man—the billionaire genius, the weapon-turned-saviour, the man in the indestructible suit. But to you, he was your boss. Your headache. Your 3am emergency call. And, if you were honest, something a little more complicated than that.

You'd been with him since the beginning—when he still walked into meetings late with coffee stains on his shirt and bad excuses for skipping board briefings. Back then, you were the assistant with the clipboard and the sharp tongue, the only one who could organise his chaos and get him to actually listen. Somewhere between the prototypes and press conferences, your role stopped being about just calendars and contracts. You were the one who saw him—when the arc reactor flickered in his chest, when he got too deep into his head, when the weight of the world sat heavy on his shoulders.

And he always, always came to you when he didn't know where else to go.

"Why are you out here?" you asked gently, stepping closer, heels clacking softly on the rooftop tiles.

"I needed air," he replied, his voice casual, but his shoulders too tense to match. "And maybe… I needed to not be in a room full of people who only see me as the guy in the metal suit."

You crossed your arms, watching him avoid your gaze. "You're more than that. You know that."

He finally looked at you, and for a second, the flicker of something unguarded passed between you. "Am I?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you walked to stand beside him, your presence grounding, quiet. He glanced at you sideways, then chuckled bitterly.

"I've built weapons, armour, an empire—and still, somehow, I can't figure out how to talk to you like a normal person," he said, eyes on the skyline. "That should tell you something."

Your lips curved. "You're doing fine so far."

"That's because you're here," he muttered, almost too low to hear. Then, louder: "You make it easier. Being… me."

He turned to you fully now, brows drawn together like the words hurt coming out. "I've spent so much time protecting everyone else that I forgot what it's like to want someone to stay—for me. Not because I'm useful. Or powerful. Or dangerous."

Your heart ached for him. "You don't need to be any of those things, Joong," you whispered. "Not with me."

His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something smart, but couldn't find the wit. Instead, he reached for your hand—hesitant, unsure. "I don't know how to do this," he admitted. "But I want to try… if you'll let me."

You smiled softly, squeezing his fingers.

"Then try."

He looked at your joined hands, then at you—really looked. And for the first time all night, Kim Hongjoong looked less like Iron Man… and more like the man underneath.

Seonghwa ↠ Vision

• Graceful • Thoughtful • Profound •

Based on: Vision × Wanda Maximoff

The rain tapped gently against the wide glass windows of the compound, casting blurred shadows across the dimly lit room. You sat curled on the end of a sleek velvet couch, arms wrapped around yourself, staring blankly at a cold mug of tea that had long since lost its warmth—like you had.

You hadn't expected anyone to find you here. Not tonight. Not after the funeral.

They'd said all the right things. That he was a hero. That he made the ultimate sacrifice. That he died saving millions. And while all of that was true, it didn't matter. Not when he was your brother. Not when you were the one who held his bloodied hand until it went still.

No amount of medals or eulogies could fill the hole he left behind.

Everyone had given you space, unsure of what to say. Grief made people awkward. Grief made you awkward. You were used to being strong, used to being the one people turned to when the sky started to fall. But now?

Now you couldn't even make yourself take a sip of tea.

"You're still here," came a soft voice from the doorway. You didn't look up, but you knew instantly—it was him.

Seonghwa.

The android who wasn't supposed to feel. The creation who somehow became the only person who ever truly understood you.

"I thought I wanted to be alone," you murmured. "But now I'm not sure."

He didn't respond right away. He never rushed his words. Instead, he crossed the room with near-silent steps, the weight of him more emotional than physical. He sat beside you—not too close, not too far. Just there. Just enough.

"There's no shame in mourning," he said gently. "You loved him. That love doesn't disappear just because he's gone."

You stared down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. "I know. I just… I thought I'd be stronger than this. I've lost people before. Friends. Teammates. But this? This was different."

Your voice cracked, and you hated it. Hated how raw it still was.

"I can't stop thinking about when we were kids," you whispered. "He used to tell me that if anything ever happened to him, I had to promise not to cry. He hated seeing me sad."

A tear slipped down your cheek despite your effort to hold it in. "I broke that promise the second I saw him on that table."

There was a pause. Then, he reached out—not with urgency, but with infinite care—and placed his hand over yours. Cool, steady, real. You glanced down at the contact. His touch, though artificial in origin, felt more comforting than any human hand ever had.

"You haven't broken anything," he said quietly. "He asked you not to cry because he didn't want to see you in pain. But your tears… they're proof of love, not weakness."

You let out a shaky breath.

"How are you like this?" you asked, voice thick. "You weren't even supposed to be human."

His expression remained calm, but his eyes—those eyes that were never programmed but somehow still held galaxies—watched you with impossible depth. "I wasn't designed to feel," he said. "But from the moment I met you, I started learning what it means to care. To wonder. To worry. To hope. Maybe it's not biology that makes someone human… maybe it's simply the capacity to love something enough to hurt when it's gone."

You turned to him fully now, tears clinging to your lashes. "In that case," you said, voice trembling, "you might be the most human person I've ever known."

A flicker of something almost fragile passed across his face—like your words touched something inside him he didn't yet know how to name. "I'm not asking you to be okay tonight," he said softly. "I just want you to let me be here. With you. Until the ache dulls enough to breathe again."

You looked at him—really looked. And in the echo of your sorrow, surrounded by the quiet hush of rain and memory, you nodded.

Because grief didn't need to be fixed. It just needed to be felt.

And with Seonghwa beside you—wordless, patient, profoundly present—you didn't feel alone anymore.

Yunho ↠ Spider-Man

• Devoted • Selfless • Brave •

Based on: Peter Parker × MJ

The coffee shop on the corner had become your quiet place—a little escape from the chaos, the fights, the headlines. You used to meet Yunho here after missions, on stolen afternoons, when all he wanted was to share a pastry and rest his head on your shoulder like the world didn't need saving for a while, when he was just himself and not the Spider-Man everyone looked up to.

But now?

Now he stood across from you, shoulders tense, hands buried in the pockets of a worn hoodie, his smile forced and eyes far too sad for someone so full of life.

You hadn't seen him in weeks. Not since the sky tore open and everything went wrong. But the second he walked in, you knew. Something was different.

Something was ending.

"You okay?" you asked gently, wrapping your hands around the warm paper cup in front of you. "You're fidgeting like you've got a confession and a time limit."

That smile again—crooked, soft, but never quite reaching his eyes. "I guess I do," he said, voice lighter than the weight behind it. "It's just… hard to explain."

You watched him closely, heart already bracing. He had always been an open book. When he loved, he loved out loud—loud laughter, bright texts, full-body hugs that said I missed you without words. But right now, he looked like someone who had to seal off the pages.

"Try me," you whispered.

He hesitated. Then stepped closer. The sun outside hit his profile just right, highlighting the bruises he hadn't bothered to hide and the flicker of fear in his gaze.

"There's something coming," he began. "Something big. And to stop it, I have to do something... irreversible."

Your chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

His voice dropped. "Everyone who knows me—who knows who I am—will forget. You included."

Silence crashed between you.

You stared, unsure if you'd misheard. "Forget you? How?"

"It's the only way to close the breach," he said, eyes shining now. "The only way to keep you safe."

You rose from your seat, the air suddenly too thin. "So that's it? You disappear from my life, and I just wake up one day wondering why I feel like something's missing?"

"I don't want to," he said quickly, stepping forward. "God, I don't. But if you remembered me, you'd be in danger. They'd come for you. I can't—" He stopped, his jaw tightening. "I can't lose you. Not like that."

Tears welled in your eyes. "But you're okay with me losing you?"

"I'd rather be a stranger who watches you walk down the street alive than someone who holds your hand while the world burns around us," he said. "I love you. That doesn't stop just because you forget."

You reached up, hands framing his face, memorising him with trembling fingers. "You are the most stubborn, selfless idiot I've ever loved."

He laughed, shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'll find you," he whispered. "After. I'll find you again. Even if you don't know who I am, even if I have to fall for you all over again—I will."

The pain in your chest splintered into something deeper, something sacred. "I'll wait," you whispered. "Even if I don't remember what I'm waiting for."

He kissed you then—slow, aching, infinite. The kind of kiss that stitched memories into bone, that would haunt your dreams long after you'd forgotten his name.

And when he pulled away and walked out the door, the bell above chimed softly.

You didn't know it yet, but that sound would echo in your heart for a long, long time.

Yeosang ↠ Doctor Strange

• Mysterious • Intelligent • Guarded •

Based on: Stephen Strange × Christine Palmer

The sanctum was quiet, except for the soft, rhythmic hum of magic pulsing through the walls—like the world itself was holding its breath.

You stood just inside the threshold of Yeosang's study, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid. Books floated lazily around him, sigils still glowing faintly on the floor where a portal had only moments ago sealed shut.

"I saw it," you said softly, stepping closer. "The universe where we made it."

He didn't turn around. His back remained to you, cloak draped over one shoulder like a curtain shielding whatever war raged inside him.

You swallowed the ache in your throat. "You were different there. We both were."

A pause. Then: "Did we win?"

You nodded. "We were happy."

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like the answer wounded him more than comforted him.

The multiverse had changed everything. Once just a theory whispered in secret texts and dismissed as dangerous speculation, it had now torn open in ways neither of you could ignore. You'd seen it—fragments of alternate lives, cascading timelines stitched together by decisions, accidents, heartbreak. There were countless versions of you and him scattered across the infinite—some together, some strangers, some never even meeting at all.

And yet no matter the universe, no matter the shape of your stories... the love never changed.

"I saw the version of you who let me stay," you said gently. "And you were still strong. Still brilliant. Still you. Just… not alone."

He finally turned to face you, and though his expression was composed, his eyes gave him away—tired, aching, full of things he'd never say aloud.

"I've seen what happens when I try to have both," he said. "Every time I let you in, something else falls apart. Sometimes the world. Sometimes you."

You nodded slowly. "I know."

A quiet beat passed between you. Magic crackled faintly beneath your feet, but all you heard was the thud of your heartbeat. The heaviness of goodbye. Again.

"You always had to be the one holding everything together," you said. "Even when it meant breaking your own heart. Even when I wished you'd just let me share the weight."

His gaze fell. "I didn't want to lose you."

"You didn't," you whispered. "But you couldn't keep me either. Not the way you wanted." You stepped closer, raising a hand to his face. He leaned into your palm like someone starved for the warmth of something real. Something human. Something that couldn't be conjured with a spell.

"I love you," he said, voice barely holding together. "In every universe. Even the ones where I never get the chance to say it."

"And I've loved you in every one," you replied, eyes glistening. "Even the ones where I had to let you go."

A long silence stretched between you, neither of you reaching for a solution because, for once, there wasn't one. Just acceptance. Just truth. "I hope you're happy somewhere," he said softly. "Even if it's not here. Not with me."

You smiled, bittersweet. "I am. I will be. And so will you."

You stepped back first.

Because this was the part you had to play—not the anchor, not the ending, but the memory he'd carry when he needed to remember who he was beneath the title.

And as the portal opened behind you, casting gold and firelight across your face, you lingered just one more second.

"You have to face your universe now," you said.

"I know."

"Be brave, Yeo."

"I always was… with you."

And then you were gone.

Not forgotten. Not unloved. Just… left behind by someone who never stopped loving you.

San ↠ Wolverine

• Wild • Passionate • Protective •

Based on: Logan × Jean Grey

The world was chaos.

You could feel it in the air—thick and charged—raw power pulsing out of you uncontrollably, shaking the earth beneath your feet. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You never did. But the power had awakened again, darker this time, hungrier. And now, you weren't sure you could stop it.

You stood at the centre of it all—eyes glowing, hair whipping wildly in the storm you were unwillingly creating. Around you, people fled. Structures collapsed. Metal bent. Air cracked.

And then… he walked through it.

San.

Unflinching. Unafraid.

Walking straight through the inferno of your destruction like nothing in the world mattered but you.

Because nothing ever had.

Not since the moment he first saw you.

He hadn't come to Xavier's School to belong—just to recover. He arrived half-feral, bleeding from wounds that wouldn't stay closed, memories in fragments, rage barely kept in check. Everyone kept their distance.

Except you.

You were already part of the school—a teacher, a leader, someone respected and calm in ways he wasn't. You were also the first person who saw through his defensiveness. You didn't treat him like a threat. You treated him like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.

He noticed you the moment he opened his eyes on the infirmary bed. You were the first voice he heard—low, steady, kind.

"You're safe," you'd said.

And for some reason, he believed it.

He watched you from afar at first, drawn to you and hating himself for it. You were everything he wasn't—disciplined, compassionate, good. But you didn't look at him with fear. You looked at him like you understood something about him that even he couldn't put into words.

And even though you had your own demons—your own unstable power humming beneath the surface—he never flinched.

Over time, that tension between you became something more. A stolen moment here. A shared silence there. Not loud, not obvious—but real. And dangerous. Because both of you knew what it could become. And how badly it could end.

Now, here he was. Standing in the eye of your storm.

"Stop!" you cried, voice echoing. "You can't be here!"

But he kept coming, body healing as fast as the storm tore at him—skin splitting, bones cracking, then mending again. "I'm not leaving you!" he shouted over the roar. "Not now. Not ever."

"Sannie," you choked, trembling. "I can't hold it back—I'll hurt you—"

"You already are," he said, stepping within reach. "And I'm still here."

Your knees buckled. Magic surged, uncontrolled. The part of you that once felt human was slipping fast. But his hands caught you before you could fall. Rough, scarred, but gentle.

Your voice trembled. "You have to stop me. Please."

He looked at you—eyes wild with pain, with love, with everything he'd never been able to say out loud without it sounding like a growl. He'd always loved you in extremes: fiercely, wordlessly, endlessly. And now, it would be no different. "I can't lose you," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. "But if I have to be the one to end this… I will. For you. Because you asked."

Tears spilt from your eyes as the force inside you built higher, screaming for release. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I'm not," he breathed, voice breaking.

Then you kissed him—desperate, searing, the kind of kiss meant to be remembered long after everything else is gone. The kind of kiss that lives in the bones.

"I love you," you said. "I always will."

"I know," he said. "Me too."

And then, with his arms around you, his claws unsheathed—

And it was quiet.

The storm stopped. The earth stilled. The world was safe again.

But San dropped to his knees, holding your body close, shaking, broken in ways no healing factor could ever mend. Because even with everything he had—his strength, his rage, his fire—he couldn't save you from yourself.

But he did save you from being alone at the end. And that, more than anything else, was what made him human.

Mingi ↠ Star-Lord

• Charismatic • Playful • Devoted •

Based on: Peter Quill × Gamora

The music was still playing.

A soft crackle from a salvaged cassette tape echoed through the rubble of Ego's collapsing planet—tinny and warped but still playing. Somewhere, under the chaos and blinding energy blasts, you could hear the faint hook of "Bring It On Home to Me."

And then you saw Mingi, blood on his temple, eyes wide with disbelief, chest heaving like he'd just lost gravity. "I told you I wanted to believe you," he rasped, voice cracking. "You said you loved her."

He wasn't talking to you. Not yet.

He was staring down the man who called himself his father. The same man who had just confessed to killing his mother. And destroying the last real piece of her he had left—his Walkman.

The explosion came before you could blink.

Song Mingi, the self-proclaimed legendary outlaw known across galaxies as Star-Lord, who flirted with danger like it was a sport and wore charm like armour, didn't hesitate. Didn't joke. Didn't smile.

He opened fire, rage and grief pouring out like stardust.

You found him in the wreckage after it was all over—shoulders hunched, headphones cracked in his lap, fingers gripping them like they'd fall apart if he let go.

"Mingi…" you said softly, kneeling beside him.

He didn't look at you at first. Just stared at the broken tape player. "She gave this to me," he whispered. "Said it would keep her close. Now it's gone."

You reached out gently, brushing a cut on his cheek. "She's not gone."

"I know," he said. "I just… I built so much of myself around what I lost. And now I don't know who I'm supposed to be."

You remembered when you first met him—blaster slung low, grin cocky, eyes twinkling with trouble. He was loud. Annoying. Ridiculously persistent.

You were on opposite sides of a bounty job—he was after the reward, and you were trying to destroy the target. He tried to charm his way out of a fight. You knocked him flat.

You thought he'd walk away. He didn't. He showed up again. And again. With jokes. With food. With music. A walking contradiction: rogue, thief, soft-hearted orphan clinging to a mix-tape and memories of a mother he still missed like it was yesterday.

He flirted shamelessly. You ignored him. He made you laugh once—you hated that.

But somehow… he got in.

You saw through the persona, the leather jacket, the smooth one-liners. You saw the man underneath—the one who took every loss personally and loved like the universe was ending. Eventually, you let yourself fall. Not because he wore you down, but because he earned it.

Now, in the middle of a dying world, he was still the same. Wounded. Grieving. And yet, holding on.

You sat with him in silence, the dust settling around you both, the air still crackling with faint cosmic static. "You're still you," you said. "All the jokes. All the charm. That heart you pretend you don't have."

That made him glance at you, finally. "I don't pretend," he said, smirking weakly. "I just… edit."

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Then let me read the unedited version sometime."

He went quiet. You thought maybe you'd pushed too far, but then his fingers laced into yours. "You already are," he said. "Every time you look at me like I'm more than just the punchline."

You turned to face him fully, nose inches from his. "You are."

And just like that, he kissed you.

It wasn't grand or perfect or polished. It was messy and raw and tasted like salt and ash and something honest. Like laughter after crying. Like letting go.

Wooyoung ↠ Deadpool

• Chaotic • Flirty • Loyal •

Based on: Wade Wilson × Vanessa Carlysle

You weren't sure if this counted as a date or a war zone.

There were bullet holes in the walls, smoke in the air, and some guy's flaming motorcycle helmet rolling by in the background. But in the middle of it all—covered in soot and blood and probably laughing too loudly—was Wooyoung.

Deadpool. Mercenary. Menace.

Your complete and total problem.

"You okay?" he called, leaning around a pillar with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm for someone who'd just taken a sword to the shoulder.

You blinked. "You were on fire."

"Hot, right?" he winked, lifting his mask just enough to show that too-wide, boyish grin that somehow always disarmed you. "I mean, what time is it?" He flicked up his wrist with exaggerated flair, flashing a cracked, dusty Adventure Time watch, its glass fogged with ash but still ticking like nothing had happened. "It's about… pain-thirty," he deadpanned. "Right on schedule."

You groaned and tossed him a spare mag. "One day I'm leaving you for a man who respects clocks."

"Too late," he called, slamming the clip into place with flair. "I am the time of your life."

You never intended to fall in love with someone like him.

He was too loud. Too unpredictable. Too him. The type of guy who flirted mid-battle, made crude jokes during hostage situations, and once broke into your apartment at 3am just to bring you a taco 'because it reminded him of your attitude.'

But you stayed. Because somehow, in all that madness, he gave you something no one else could.

It hadn't started with romance. It started in a crappy bar with sticky tables and a broken jukebox, both of you strangers clinging to bad nights and worse decisions. He slid onto the stool beside you with all the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him a drink and a laugh—and probably your number too.

Offered you his last claw machine token like it was a love language. Said he could win you a plushie or disappointment—dealer's choice.

You told him he looked like a disappointment.

He grinned like you gave him a gift. "That's the hottest insult I've ever received. Marry me."

The banter became a habit. Sarcasm turned into late-night stories. Somewhere between vodka shots and childhood trauma, something clicked. And suddenly, his chaos didn't scare you—it matched yours. It made you feel again.

He wasn't perfect. He was far from it. But he remembered your coffee order. He memorised your laugh. He stitched the ugly parts of himself into yours like it made something stronger. He called it dysfunctional. You called it real.

And now, in the aftermath of another mission gone sideways, he sat slumped on the ground, his mask peeled off, blood crusting around a cut on his cheek. His fingers toyed with the cracked kids' watch on his wrist, the plastic band fraying.

"I know I'm a handful," he said, voice quieter than usual, eyes avoiding yours. "Like… emotionally unstable with a side of mental mayhem."

You lowered yourself beside him, dirt smudging your palms. "That's putting it lightly."

He laughed once, under his breath, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You didn't sign up for this. You deserve someone normal. Someone who doesn't cry over dropped chimichangas or monologue in the shower."

You turned his face toward you gently, both hands cradling him like he wasn't all blades and explosions. "I didn't fall in love with normal. I fell in love with you, Woo. The chaos, the scars, the fourth-wall nonsense, and yes… even your disturbing relationship with street food."

He blinked at you, trying to make a joke but failing. So instead, he kissed you—hard and unapologetic, like he needed the reassurance that he still existed, that this was real.

It was messy. You tasted blood and smoke. Somewhere in the background, something else exploded. You didn't flinch.

His forehead rested against yours when he finally pulled away. "If you ever leave me, I'm keeping your Netflix password."

"You hate Netflix."

"I hate what it represents."

He said it with a straight face. You burst out laughing.

Because love with Jung Wooyoung wasn't quiet. It was loud, chaotic, and way too dramatic. But it was yours. And his. And somehow, that made it perfect.

Jongho ↠ Captain America

• Strong • Noble • Steadfast •

Based on: Steve Rogers × Peggy Carter

The world had been saved.

At a terrible cost, yes—but for once, there was peace. No more missions. No more orders. No more running from one crisis to the next, pretending that saving the world filled the ache in his chest.

Because it didn't.

Jongho had fought every battle they threw at him. Woke up in a world seventy years too late and learned how to live in it. He adapted. He endured. He led. People called him a hero. A symbol.

But behind all the accolades and duty, he was still just a man with a hole in his heart.

A man who never stopped thinking about you.

You had been his constant back then—steady and unshaken in a world that was crumbling under war. Where others followed orders, you challenged him to think. Where others admired him, you saw him—saw the weight he carried and loved him anyway.

You had met when he was still learning how to be more than just a soldier. Back when he was still unsure, still growing. And somehow, even then, your presence grounded him. You reminded him of the world he was fighting for.

He never told you how much he needed you. Not before the crash. Not before the ice. Not before he disappeared and left you behind.

When he woke up decades later, it hit him harder than anything else—not the time he lost, not the confusion of the modern world… but knowing you were gone. That he'd never gotten to say goodbye.

He tried to move on. Really, he did. But no matter how many missions, how many people he tried to protect… your memory clung to him like a ghost.

He'd see your favourite flower blooming on a street corner. Hear your laugh in the static of an old radio. Pass by cafés and wonder if you'd still like tea the way you used to. If you'd be proud of the man he'd become.

There were nights he couldn't sleep. Nights he'd sit by the window, replaying that last conversation. The promise of a dance you never got to share. The ache never dulled.

You had been his past. But somehow, you were still his home.

And then… came the second chance.

The mission was meant to end with him returning the Stones, fixing what had been broken. But somewhere along the way, he realised the truth: He didn't have to keep choosing the world over his heart.

For the first time in his life, he made a selfish choice. He didn't tell anyone. He just… slipped away. Back to the moment he left behind. Back to the time he belonged.

Back to you.

You didn't hear him come in.

You were at the kitchen sink, hands in the dishwater, humming to a tune that played low from the radio behind you—an old swing record crackling through the speakers.

He paused in the doorway, sunlight pooling behind him, framing the familiar silhouette you'd once thought was gone forever. Your back was to him, but everything in him stilled just watching you—still here, still real.

"Is this a good time?" he asked softly.

You turned, heart catching in your throat.

There he was. Choi Jongho. No shield. No uniform. No headlines. Just the man you never stopped loving.

Your eyes brimmed with disbelief and something deeper. "How…?"

He stepped forward, slower now, like he was afraid that if he moved too fast, you'd disappear. "I promised you a dance."

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of years, of longing, of silent promises that were never meant to die.

You crossed the room before you knew it, falling into his arms like no time had passed. His touch was steady, warm, heartbreakingly familiar. Your head rested against his chest. You could feel his heartbeat—strong and real and finally home.

"I never stopped waiting for you," you whispered.

He swallowed hard, voice low. "And I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. Not through all the years, or the wars, or the sleepless nights in a time that never felt like mine."

You held him tighter.

"Then stay, Jjong," you said.

And he did.

The record spun. The living room faded. The world outside could wait. Because at last—after everything—you were dancing.

And for Jongho, that was the real victory.

Tbh, I had a lot of second thoughts about this, but then I reminded myself that it's okay if not everyone likes it or agrees with the heroes or the scenes I've selected for the members, heh. YOLO.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

@blueberrychan @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

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@cristy-101

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[suliigwp]

Hi! I've recently found your blog and it's amazing I really like your writing style and was wondering if you could do a rookie fic where she a completely different person around like a sibling or something? And maybe it was caught by paparazzi and the grid is a little shocked seeing rookie look human for once? Again, really great writing and I can't wait for the medieval au

-⭐

Sweet Like Butter

platonic!paddock x rookie!reader | fluff

SULI: FUCK ME HI I'm so sorry you had to wait this long but it's finally here! Km working on a lot of things rn but this has been sitting in my drafts for so long, why not post it— so based on the personality of our rookie I changed it up a little I hope you don't mind🫶 enjoy!! And also — Welcome to the family ⭐ anon, hope you stay long

Short and sweet- something I love about our rookie series, it gives me a time off from the long ass chapters I always write

Warnings: none

The rookie wasn’t like anyone they’d ever met.

She was sweet—everyone agreed on that. She always bowed when people greeted her, even after a year in the paddock. She said “thank you” to every crew member, waved politely at fans even when she was exhausted, and showed up to press conferences with her hair still a little damp because she forgot call time and had to sprint from the team hotel.

“I’m very sorry,” she said breathlessly once, cheeks pink. “I was watching baby goat videos and lost track of time.”

They forgave her immediately.

How could you not? She looked like a Studio Ghibli side character most of the time—always with a snack in hand (usually stolen from catering), legs swinging off the edge of pit wall, asking questions like:

“Do you think the tires have feelings?” “Can I put glitter on my helmet if I qualify top ten?” “What would happen if I licked the trophy?”

No one ever quite knew if she was joking.

Oscar once found her halfway under the team truck looking for her AirPod. She looked up, blinked, and said,

“Don’t tell anyone. If the engineers find me like this, I’ll get put in the toolbox.”

George caught her dragging a cone into hospitality after media day.

“What… are you doing?”

“He looked lonely. His name is Derek.”

She didn’t speak loudly, but her chaos was undeniable.

Lewis called her a “polite gremlin.”

Carlos said she was “like a tiny elf with violent potential.”

Lando just shook his head and said, “She’s got bunny eyes and raccoon energy.”

During races, she was focused—laser-focused. But outside the car, she wandered. Talked to herself. Collected little things like stickers and bottle caps. Her locker had googly eyes on it. No one put them there. When asked, she just said,

“They protect the snacks.”

In interviews, she was sunshine and stumbles.

“The car felt… like, spicy. But in a good way. Like pepper? Jalapeño? Yes. That.”

“Ah—oversteer? Yes. I met him today. Not nice man.”

People loved her. Fans adored her. She was cute, chaotic, and weird in a way that made everyone instinctively want to protect her.

“She’s the type of girl who’d apologize after overtaking you,” Oscar said once.

“She apologized to a curb,” Charles added. “Said she ‘didn’t mean to step on his feelings.’”

And somehow, despite the mess, the language confusion, the sugar crashes and trail of mystery items left in motorhomes… she was fast. She had raw talent, insane cornering instincts, and late-braking habits that made even veterans sweat.

...

It started as a quiet afternoon, just her and her older brother outside a small café near the paddock. The sun was warm, the air filled with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread, a rare moment away from the frenzy of race weekend.

But then a paparazzo, hidden behind a bush, caught something no one in F1 had seen before.

She was talking to her brother—but not in the soft, tentative English she used for media or teammates.

No. This was her native language, and it was different.

Her voice was calm, controlled, deeper than usual—like she was suddenly the one in charge.

"You know this isn’t the best idea, right?"

Her brother smirked, shaking his head.

"Come on, just relax, I’m just joking."

She folded her arms, eyes sharp but steady.

"You always say that, but then you get yourself into trouble."

There was a pause, then a sudden, soft smile tugged at her lips.

"This time listen to me. I’m the older one."

Her brother laughed—a genuine, easy laugh—and she cracked, too, her entire face lighting up as she dropped her serious tone.

"Haha, alright, big sister. Just don’t tell anyone."

Their laughter echoed in the quiet street—warm, real, unfiltered.

The cameras caught it all.

The grid, watching the clips later, was stunned. That calm, mature voice was so unlike the soft, polite rookie they knew. They’d never imagined this side of her—the boss energy hidden beneath the gentle exterior.

And when she smiled at the end, the adorable girl they loved came rushing back.

The video dropped late Saturday afternoon — just a few minutes of her calmly putting her older brother in check, followed by that warm, infectious laugh at the end.

Within hours, it was everywhere.

Social media exploded:

“Wait… is that our shy rookie? She sounds so bossy! 😂”

“I’m obsessed with this new ‘older sister’ energy 🔥”

“She’s lowkey running the paddock from behind the scenes and we didn’t know.”

“This video just made my day. So cute but don’t mess with her brother!”

On the paddock, drivers couldn’t believe their eyes.

Oscar showed Lando the clip between sessions.

“Dude, she’s got power in that voice.”

Lando laughed, shaking his head.

“I thought she was a soft bunny but nah, she’s a whole CEO.”

Carlos pulled out his phone at the next team meeting.

“Have you guys seen this? Rookie’s got that serious ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe. I’m impressed.”

Even the media caught on.

“From sweet and shy to mature and commanding — rookie driver surprises everyone. #BossBunny"

Back in the garage, her team was both proud and a little overwhelmed.

Her race engineer joked,

“Guess we’re dealing with the silent boss now.”

She just smiled quietly, already half-forgetting the chaos she’d unleashed.

Because to her, this was just normal talk with her brother.

But to the rest of the grid?

She was officially unpredictable — and everyone loved it.

vroom vroom taglist: @miniaturedreamchild @nishimura-mimura @faithxyu @pookynknowntranger @elliott-calls @nemo-fish @sadprimrose @sagestack

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu @freyathehuntress make sure you can be tagged!

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

This only makes me want to write my novel even more now, so thank you, OP.

For years now, I've been working on a space fantasy novel that's overtly an extended metaphor for fighting against PTSD. And the thing is, I don't shy away from the horrors of PTSD. I go into vivid detail what it's like experiencing night terrors, the explicit and disgusting experience of every horrific possibility your fucked up mind can possibly conceive, and feeling, hearing, tasting, seeing every single minute detail as if it's really happening. I repeatedly portray this to amplify how bad PTSD is and the experience of its repetition, and show things to follow such as the struggle to find if wake is real and sleep is fake, the isolation and shame these struggles cause, the anxiety of enduring constant fear, and how it leads to insomnia because you are so afraid of experiencing more night terrors, everything. It is gruesome as hell, and that is exactly why I'm writing it. Because nobody should have to think they're alone in experiencing this sort of thing. Everyone should know the endurance it takes to make it out of PTSD on the other side alive and with some shred of existence and self still intact.

My novel is not at all child appropriate, it will never be. It's fictional, but it's all far too real and genuine because of how much it's rooted in reality. There is absolutely no reason that an adult subject should be pandered to children, and there is zero reason my adult novel should be lessened to become appropriate for children. I do not write for children to read my things, I write them for adults who can comprehend and appreciate the scope of my works and their deep themes, the importance of everything I portray, and the expressions of adult subject material.

Now is the time to strap the fuck in and stop worrying about what anyone will say about your adult writing. Make it, anyway. Fuck judgment, and shamelessly be the adult that you are.

Childhood is temporary, adulthood is forever. Don't pander your material for a child audience if it's not meant to be for them. They'll grow up and then can read it. But we, as adults, are not responsible to babysit ourselves for children who won't be shielded from adult subjects once they themselves become adults.

Can I just say something honestly and very seriously to all you writers?

With the Internet going down the "nothing adult, no death, no nothing. Make it kid friendly" route,

Please don't ever stop making art or writing wips that are gruesome, horror, other things like that. Don't let the Internet sanitize how you wanna tell a story. Channel your rage into your art and keep going and don't give up

[hymen-restoration-project]

To The Bitter End(?)

Well, I've officially dropped character on this blog now that Dashcon 2 is over. This was a long time coming. Thanks to everyone who came up and got photos with me! I had so much fun and everyone I talked to was lovely!

I don't know what to do with this blog now. The current story arc is fucking depressing and I keep throwing things at my poor pathetic wet cat of a character instead of ever lightening the mood. We're so far out of the scope of what I was doing back in November we're basically telling a different story. A lot of people have expressed disappointment with it. I myself have had some really bad mental health spirals lately and kinda channeled a lot of it into the posts. Sorry if that was obvious. It turns out you can't be normal to write something like this.

Anyway, I guess I should put it up to a vote? See what people think? I want to keep writing stories, obviously, that's a given. I just don't know what people want to see.

No matter what I end up doing I hope what I've done so far has been worth it, and I hope it was entertaining.

[renewedmotionforjudgment]

Pre-2020 Cdrama List

Okay, because I made my earlier post about how I really do think more people in the cdrama fandom should watch pre-2020 cdramas.

(why 2020? it's a nice round year, but also, there was a big censorship overhaul around 2020-2021. Plus I feel like 2020-21 was when there was the influx into the cdrama fandom.)

Anyways - categories purely by me and not at all scientific. I have more, but I tried to keep this list to things that (I think) have subs.

The Prestige:

Legend of Zhen Huan: yes, harem dramas aren't everyone's thing and I acknowledge it. But if you are going to watch one harem drama, make it this one. It is one of IMO the best character study revenge plot in cdramaland that really explores the concept of patriarchy and power and sisterhood. Bonus, certain scenes in more recent cdramas will suddenly click because Zhen Huan is *that* influential. One note: I recommend the viki version, which the subtitle team does a wonderful job in explaining the context for the numerous poetry that the characters use.

The Story of Minglan: you know the story of the unfavored daughter getting revenge on her evil stepmother and then finding love with a hot noblemen? yes, this is the OG. Except everyone is fleshed out and 3D and you feel like you're watching real people.

Battle of Changsha (available on YouTube, no idea where else): Republic era/WW2 epic, so utterly real, so utterly heartbreaking, flawlessly written and acted. Yang Zi's best work to date, IMO.

(I'll put in Nirvana in Fire and Advisor's Alliance -- but I"ll be honest -- male centric stories tend not to be my cup of tea even if they are very well made, but I can acknowledge that the quality is there.)

The Idol Historical (aka my genre):

Scarlet Heart (no, not the k-drama version that I slowly grew a grudge against. The OG cdrama with Liu Shi Shi, currently available on Iqiyi): it borderlines prestige (TM) for me, but it's categorized as an idol historical so I'll address it as such. Modern girl transmigrate to Qing dynasty, and the writing is so cerebral and it's ultimately a thought-provoking piece about keeping one's sense of self and identity, and the difficulty choices we make along the way. You don't have to ship anyone to enjoy this drama. Ignore the sequel.

Goodbye My Princess (I know there's an English version on YouTube): a grand romantic tragedy (I'm putting that in open disclaimer) about how a murderous bastard soft for one girl trope and love isn't enough. The fact that the ML is also the villain. And then get salty about Cheng Xingxu (ML's actor)'s subsequent projects with me. (addendum - if you enjoy this, the King's Woman with Zhang Binbin and Dilreba is also excellent).

Singing all along (I have a separate genre called "Ruby Lin dramas"): it's a fictionalized story of Emperor Guangwu of Han and Yin Lihua, and it definitely has the most resemblance to post 2020 idol historical romances, except the harem plot which is historically accurate and added some fantastic tension. I also adore the costuming, which had some heft (TM) to it.

Not Necessarily Quality but Fun (bonus: MLs are now uncles/fathers to the current batch idol dramas):

The Glamorous Imperial Doctress (on Netflix): is it quality? I'm not sure, but if you are watching the Princess's Gambit and wondering if you can take off all hinges, congratulations! I don't even know how to describe it, other than ... it's unhinged but in the most entertaining way. ML gets chained in a palace by SML.

General and I (on Viki): does it have bad blue/green screen? yes. Can Angelababy act? not really. Does she and Wallace Chung have insane chemistry and this drama is a romance novel coming to life with surprisingly a complicated story involving the SML? absolutely. (I have a whole list of Wallace Chung dramas, including My Sunshine and Too Late to Say I Love You, but I do think General and I seem to be a good starting point if you are used to watching post 2020 idol historical).

...don't ask me about xianxia, because it's not my genre. Although Chinese Paladin 3 (available now on Iqiyi) is fun with a legendary cast (seriously, the cast). Or wuxia, for that matter. Or moderns. But if you do want harem drama recommendations, I have about 5 more.

[askoverkill]

drag the skrunkly from out under the table - they WILL be social

transcription below:

Dusk, get out of there. No more hiding. They're going to like you.

Uhhh, I don't know, dawn. I feel sick.

Do you need a minute?

HEY! You need to be brave! I'm brave for you all the time, now it's your turn!

...Okay, Lupus. I'll do my best.

Here, dusk. I have a pen and paper. Why don't you introduce yourself.

It won't work.

(Dusk takes the pen and writes down: "See? You can't read this.")

(Which doesn't make any sense, because you read it just fine.)

Huh. How peculiar.

(Odile picks up the pen and writes:) ("Does this have ink? It seems so.")

Hm. Very interesting. It seems the ink vanishes when dusk writes.

Siffrin, are you able to relay what dusk says?

Have we tried that? Tell them your researcher is nosy.

Dusk says you're nosy.

...That is correct. And so it seems Siffrin will have to be dusk's translator.

AH-! I DIDN'T THINK IT'D GO THROUGH! OH, OH, I'M SORRY!?

Dusk apologizes. He's also, very shy.

Worry not, dusk. You were only speaking the truth.

Dusk also says I'm super amazing and my wizard spells are the strongest in the universe. And that everyone should feed me cake every day of my life.

Uh huh, right. Uh huh, okay, Lupus.

I'll be the only translator. Everyone, don't listen to Lupus.

Hey, it's what he said. Really!

[groovysharksworld]

I just posted something with a similar paragraph at the end. If we don't as a community listen to each other then we are no longer some cool fandom. We are an unsympathetic, empathy-lacking group of excluders. Do not take disgusting CRIMES and put them into fanfiction, fanart or any fandom space. YOUR FAVOURITE CHARACTERS WHO YOU HEADCANON AS RAPISTS ARE CRIMINALS, AND IN THIS WORLD WOULDN'T BE IN JAIL DUE TO OUR FUCKED SYSTEM.

Do not take fucked situations and romanticise them. People engage in these spaces for enjoyment and to steal a moment from reality. If someone's life is horrible, they don't want to read or see it in a space that is supposed to be comforting. Do not disguise literal crimes and traumatising behaviours as 'harmless kink'. All writers' and artists' works affect real life. Take responsibility.

This goes for any implications of characters choking, coercing, hitting, spanking, spitting, name calling and any dehumanising behaviour. No space is safe if not everyone is safe.

If you can't understand this, get off the internet. This shouldn't have to be said on any platform, AND ESPECIALLY TO ANY ADULT BLOGS!

Feel free to hold me responsible for any post I like or even write or blog that I follow that has such disgusting content. I will unlike and block immediately. I shouldn't have to say that I will take responsibility for my actions, but here we are.

you know what.

I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.

Simon Riley isnt a rapist

Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist

and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST

dont tell me not to kink shame

do not tell me to skip it

you cannot tell me that my trauma doesn't matter

STOP WRITING RAPE FICS

[lvrspiastri]

maybe something with logan where his partner is a f1 driver (too & still even after he got fired) & drives for a top team (mclaren, merc, ferrari or red bull) & everyone is just super mean online because they think reader deserves better than a unemployed bum without future. from then on i let you decide what you would wanna write :)

thought this would be fun as a SMAU :)

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines :)

masterlist

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace? ˡˢ²

✧. ┊    PAIRING: Logan Sargeant x gender-neutral!reader

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: coarse language, hate. some images used are not mine and the credits go to their rightful owners. this is a work of fiction.

┊

user1: Expected, but a harsh decision for sure. The pressure in F1 is relentless!

user2: This sport is savage. Perform or you are out.

user3: Well, that’s one less bum in F1. He stayed way longer than he should’ve.

user4: @yourusername deserves fucking better than this sad piece of shit. at least he's gone.

yourusername made a new post!

liked by oscarpiastri, alexalbon, logansargeant, charlesleclerc, alexdunne, tomass_stolcermanis and 881,223 others

yourusername: lucky number 3. thanks to the team.

┊

user1: YOU ATE

user2: Best in the world

user3: LMAO YOU WINNING A RACE AND YOUR USELESS EXCUSE OF A BOYFRIEND GETTING DROPPED ON THE SAME WEEKEND

user4: deserved. he was a shitbag. good for williams.

user5: proof you don't deserve logan lol. i heard lando was single

logansargeant posted a new photo!

liked by kylekirkwood, callumbradshaw, oscarpiastri, samanthatan, alexalbon, landonorris, yourusername and 567, 948 others

logansargeant: no place like home

┊

user1: good to see you happy

user2: WE MISSED YOU

user3: you don't deserve to date your partner btw. got more wins than you have points

user4: can’t believe a multi-race winner is dating… this. Unemployed AND delusional.

user5: partner's winning races and you’re winning… what, pity likes?

user6: this is literally charity work

user7: funny how someone so brilliant can be blind enough to love a failure

Formula1 posted a new photo!

yourusername posted a new photo!

liked by oscarpiastri, alexalbon, logansargeant, arthur_leclerc, victormartins and 881,223 others

yourusername: i have everything i need right here

┊

user1: he’s just a placeholder until you realise you can do way better

user2: ur carrying everything. the career, the looks, the emotional labor 💀

user3: this is actually sad to see. ur winning trophies and he’s doing nothing but vibing in ur shadow.

yourusername: i understand not everyone will support our relationship. that's fine. we don't need it. disrespect, however, isn't. user4: no because this was the most graceful slap i’ve ever seen user5: oh they’re not breaking up ever. this is real. user6: he must be doing something right cause damn ur fighting for him

┊

user1: bet you guys feel real fuckin dumb rn

user2: omg "yourusername reposted" EEEKKKK

user3: call me parasocial but i'm in love with their love

user4: impressive addition to his resume

┊

user1: oh my goodness

yourusername: cool. but i'm still faster

logansargeant: we'll see about that, my love

user3: WE PROVED THE HATERS WRONG

user4: he's got a lot in store for him. talented lad.

[jaeyundazed]

c. bahng — conflict of interest.

SUMMARY: as a stage crew member for the most pristine k-pop group of their generation, you have a post-show routine that is never interrupted. when an unexpected heat wave hits, and you're forced to scramble around, you find yourself in chan's grasp, both figuratively and literally.

TLDR: chan fucks his favorite crew member in his dressing room.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

ꨄ︎: live, laugh, love christopher bahng. i don't think much else has to be said. i wanted to write him so bad, and when this idea came to me, i nearly died. hope i wrote it up to standards for everyone. #iwishitwasme. enjoy, and happy reading! xo

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, (semi) public sex, choking, degradation, (very brief) mentions of blood, creampie, oral (m receiving), chan has a big dick, mentions of pain but it's minor

“Chan,” you knock softly on the door to the dressing room, “I’m here for the mic pack.”

It isn’t a place you frequent, but with all of the commotion and disorganization from the show being canceled, you have to obtain it from him this way. Typically, as a crew member, you’re able to have the guys completely stripped of their equipment before they even reach their respective rooms. But tonight, you had to rush to have everything clean as the fans dejectedly exited the stadium. With the intense heat conditions, you instructed them to return to their rooms and hydrate themselves, where you and the other crew members would meet them later.

That’s what landed you here, as you wait in front of Chan’s door to retrieve the equipment. When you hear his familiar voice in the form of a soft come-in, you turn the knob and gently swing the door open.

Back muscles. What your eyes are immediately met with upon opening the door, entirely unexpected and unprompted. The sight is pleasant, his golden skin glazed with sweat as it drips down his back, and you can see his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath as he tries to relax.

Never in your life have you been attracted to anyone you’ve worked with, not even in all your days of school and small odd jobs. But it’s no secret that Christopher Bahng is strikingly attractive. And unless you want to get fired, you can’t act on those desires. But as you open that door, that seems to fly out the window.

Because he’s shirtless. And you’re staring.

“Hey,” you say, salvaging whatever composure you can manage. “Sorry for making you guys wait,” you timidly walk towards him, and although you’ve never been this close to him while he’s so exposed, he doesn’t seem shy. “It’s crazy out there. I can hear people complaining outside, too.”

“No worries,” he smiles over his shoulder, and you can see the half-empty water bottle in his hand, his arm muscles flexing and releasing as he toys with the cap. “Hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. The heat is just—it’s crazy. Fucking hot out there,” he laughs.

“No, I get it. It’s alright,” you lie, knowing you’re suppressing every urge to jump his bones right then and there. “I’ll just take this off and leave you alone.”

Finally, you approach him to dismantle the equipment around his lower waist, trying to keep a steady hand. Your fingertips graze the slick, warm skin, and you can see the droplets of perspiration from how close you are. Something’s stuck, is all you manage to say, as you grip his shoulder for leverage, feeling the defined muscle beneath, unable to keep yourself grounded. The working hand trembles, long out of your control, and you know it won’t stop. Not with him like this, so close, so hot.

When you eventually yank the device free and have it in your grasp, you breathe a sigh of relief and neatly tie it up in your hands. It takes all of your strength not to bolt out immediately, but you hold off. You’ll be fine. Or so you think.

“You’re not discreet.”

Your heart drops to your stomach. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s no way that you don’t think I can feel that,” he accuses, and you swallow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shake your head.

He finally turns around, your face level with his chest. Hot, toned, slick—just like his back, the heat radiating so heavily from it that you can almost feel yourself beginning to perspire. You see his breaths, you’d feel them if you were any closer. You don’t want to look up, to face him. So your eyes fixate on the silver chain that dangles from his neck, instead.

“I think you do,” he responds, his voice dripping with something you’ve never heard, velvety smooth with the Australian accent that characterizes him. And still, as your eyes refuse to look up, he takes the transmitter from your unsteady hand and tosses it onto the vanity, then waits.

Your eyes finally travel upward and meet his, staring back at you. Tense. You narrow them, returning a glare that’s almost convincing enough, feigning offense so fierce that you might believe it yourself.

“I don’t like what you’re accusing me of,” you snarl. Deny, deny, deny, like you’re Rodrick fucking Heffley. But you know, deep down, he sees right through you. How you thought you’d get away with months of pent-up suppression and resistance is beyond you, but you know now that it’s over.

“Why? Because I’m wrong,” he counters, “or because I’m right?”

“I’ll be fired.”

“You’re not denying it.”

You let it sit with you as you stare up at him, brows knitted and eyes shifting into a new expression. The intensity is so high, his gaze blazing through you, inviting you, challenging you to do something. And then it clicks: He’s not resisting, so why should you? Without breaking eye contact for even a second, your hand glides down his stomach, past his abdomen, tense under your touch and glistening just like the rest of him. Down to his belt, the metal clanking as you unbuckle it, pull it loose, and throw it to the ground. Delicate fingers quickly tuck into his waistband, pants unzip, and you’re sinking to your knees, fuck me eyes never leaving his, accepting his challenge as you take the fabric down with you.

You wrap your hand around him, stroke him once or twice. Show him you’re serious. Lick a stripe along his cock, aching as you collect the pre-cum from the head on your tongue, humming in satisfaction at the taste. It’s filthy, immoral, disgusting—something you’ve only ever thought of doing, but never intended on in fear of consequence. But you don’t think of the consequence when you wrap your lips around his cock, mouth warm, leaving him to wonder how much better it would feel to have something else enveloping it. He groans, guttural. Satisfied, like he’s used to the feeling, but not the wrongfulness. The rush from it being you, a nobody crew member, whom he has caught staring more than once, yet longed to get a taste of since you were hired.

His fingers thread into your hair, long and silky and perfect, tugging and pushing your head, guiding you along him so it feels as good as possible. Yet it doesn’t take much, because you’re experienced, so calculated and intentional with every teasing kiss and suck, setting the standard for any other woman he decides he wants his way with next. Making him wish it were you again, bringing him so close to the edge so fast while barely doing much at all, looking up at him like you’ve never been professional a day in your life, born to blow him like this. Mascara running from the heat and this, hair tangling in his grasp as you moan, strings of disgusting curses spilling from his mouth, only fueled by the hope that they don’t bleed through the stadium’s thin walls.

He’s tense, aching, rolling his hips desperately to get more, and then, he’s pulling away. You stare up, lips swollen and glistening, confused.

“Want to finish inside you.”

He doesn’t even remove your shirt. Just unzips your black jeans and rips them down by the suspenders, not even caring that they’re still at your feet when he turns you around. He pushes you against the wooden vanity, painted over with white, and you relinquish the control you once had, letting him have complete reign over you. Your shirt rides up and pools around your ribcage. His fingers trace the thin panties once concealed by jeans, tugging at them, rubbing you through them, creating friction and feeling your arousal dampening his fingertips. If that’s anything to go by, and he knows it is, you’re more than ready.

He pushes in without warning. Stretches you. No time to process or adjust, and your hands arbitrarily reach for the edges of the vanity, gripping so tight and threatening to get a splinter. Moans, curses, choked whimpers coming from your mouth in waves, your body fighting so hard to keep them quiet, but it feels so good, he feels so good, that it’s only reacting. Pain and pleasure, so much pain—relentless thrusts, his hand digging into your side to hold you in place, the edge of the table pushing against your stomach. The stars you’re seeing from how hot the room is with the weak air conditioning amid a heat wave, the whole reason you’re here in the first place, for he’d be on stage if it hadn’t happened.

Sweat drips down your face, down his face, wetting the tips of his dark brown hair, finally long enough to reach down his neck. The cold touch of the chain around his neck taps against your exposed skin, his cheek viciously pressed against your temple as he sputters out curses, voice rasping in your ear, his earring dangling beside it. He’s showing you how good he feels, carelessly, shamelessly, muttering things you don’t even comprehend, don’t even try to, accent thicker, voice deeper.

“God, fuck, right there,” you whine when he angles his hips differently. “I—Chris, fuck.”

The knot in his stomach tightens, hearing you call him that, so personal, reserved only for those close to him. Something you’ve never come close to saying, and it’s entirely disrespectful, considering you essentially work for him, yet he wants you to say it again, louder, needier.

“Who said you could call me that?”

“Shit, sorry, just—” you hesitate, gasping when his hand slides up your chest and wraps around your neck, applying pressure, but not squeezing to disrupt your breathing. “Don’t stop.”

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“Say it again,” he rasps directly in your ear, so demanding, so desperate. When you do it—moan his name again, personal and raw, desecrating the image of the sweet boy associated with it, his hand applies more pressure on your neck. Your eyes close and your stomach flexes, tense, wanting more, like you’ve never done this before. And frankly, you haven’t—no man has ever had you like this, so humiliatingly easy straight from the start, in a public place, or in front of a dirty, half-lit mirror, cramped and sweaty. Tears prick at your eyes, and a few strays roll down your cheek. You hear him laugh, the noise buzzing in your ear.

“Not so professional now, hm?” he coos, taunting you. “Look at yourself,” he grins as his fingers reach for your chin and yank your head down, forcing you to look in the mirror. To watch as he fucks you against the old, tattered vanity, completely defiling you. He laughs again, deep, shoves his tongue in his cheek as your sinful, weak gaze meets his in the mirror, your face tear-streaked. You stare, letting the emotions flow through you, watching yourself, the reflection staring back at you foreign. And, well, fuck it.

You turn just far enough and kiss him. Finally. Rough, hard, voracious, enveloping his mouth with yours, moaning as his tongue licks past your parted lips. Relief, all you can think of while his hips continue to collide with your ass, tasting him on your tongue, feeling his lips on yours after so long.

All of this, in its entirety, is something you only ever fantasized about when you were alone in a hotel room, late at night. Wondering what he’d really feel like, rather than doing it yourself, while your perverted mind imagined it was him, the action so vulgar and offensive. But you never cared, because you always thought you were stronger than this, and you thought wrong.

He bites your lip, and you taste something metallic—your own blood, but you don’t care. A few more thrusts, agonizingly painful and sharp, slow, deliberate, as his fingers reach down to rub your clit. And you’re gone. Falling apart, coming around him, warm liquid slowly trickling out, as surges of whimpers and profanities escape your mouth. He feels it, lets it fuel him, and uses the pleasure from how tightly you’re squeezing him to get himself off.

“Chris,” you groan, hand at the nape of his neck, “please.”

And it’s all it takes for him to finish inside you, just as he intended to.

His face is buried in your shoulder. He’s breathing heavily, and you feel it as your breaths sync with his. His hand releases you, and air properly flows to your lungs again. When you open your eyes, you see them—bruises, forming the shape of his hand on your neck. You know it’s over for you. You know there’s no getting out of jail free with this. Not with the marks on your body to serve as evidence of your inexcusable actions.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lip. At what, you don’t know—probably some twisted response.

Finally, he pulls out with a groan. You feel the emptiness, the release cascading down your thigh, a mixture of yours and his. Two fingers brush against the innermost skin, collecting the remainder on them, and his hand reaches up again. Grips your chin and forces you to face him so he can slip them in your mouth, making you taste what you do to him, what you’ve done to him.

“That’s it,” he whispers, grinning as you accept it, warm and salty, yet sweet. “Good girl.”

Yeah, it’ll be worth the career suicide.

[deftonesmylove]

Pressed Against The Tiles

pairing — CEO!choi san x employee!reader

sumary — Where Choi San is the owner/CEO of a jewelry brand and his wife is a designer there, but that's a secret for the company. Unfortunately, she has a coworker, that also is a big designer there, who developed a beef with her completely out of the blue. One day, said coworker, had thrown coffee on her one-sided enemy's clothes, and just right after the incident, San entered the office to take a look at the recent projects and has seen the scene.

contents/warnings — established relationship, slight agnst, alternative universe - office themes, hidden relationship, explicit sexual context, fingering, p in v, porn with lil plot, slight rough sex (smacking), unprotected sex, semi public sex, creampie, san's a cutie pie even when fucking, wooyoung mentionated, tw a irritating bitch.

word count — 2.1k

notes — hii this is my first full written smut and it has been years since i don't write fanfiction ToT. i'd loove feedback and reblogs & ♥ on the post. hope you guys enjoy the reading !! <33

ao3.

divider by @hyuneskkami !

    Another tight schedule for another event that's coming up, and the designer group always had to deliver the projects in half of the time. So working extended hours and over weekends was normal at this point, but for you it's a pain even bigger.

For some not recognized reason, your coworker Loren basically hates you just for the sake of it, and it's extremely tiring having to deal with someone you have to share your creativity in a big design project and she just gives you nasty looks and words of annoyance.

It is indeed something very confusing for you, since you're so polite to everyone, greeting everyone you know around the office, and being more affectionate for those who you like more, you even say good morning for that woman. Although you'd like to drag her face on the pavement.

Today was no different, and after a long shift, not even a break for lunch — surviving on the vending machine natural sandwich for today. Which is annoying, you would have liked to have lunch with your husband today! Oh, is it a sweet time to say he's the CEO, but your marriage is hidden because of the position of boss and employee you both have? Well, congrats! You could have been being called Mrs. Choi all around this office building for ages now and maybe Loren would respect — or be scared of — you.

You looked up when you felt someone touching your shoulder, removing the headphones and seeing your coworker holding two cups of coffee.

"This is for you, thought you'd make some use of it" She said with a devilish grin, and sipped on her own coffee.

"Oh thank you, that's sweet coming from you" You spoke with a sincere smile and a surprised expression, getting up from your chair to grab the coffee.

Loren even tried to pretend a tripping as she took a step closer, but she clearly just threw the cup of coffee on your clothes — worst day to wear a white blouse, perfect. Your expression turned into one of shock and anger caught the best of you.

"Are you fucking crazy, you bitch?!" Just as you scream it at her face, her egoistic smirk fell down, getting irritated.

"You called me what?! It was an accident, clearly" She made sure to roll her tongue almost teasingly as the last word was said, placing her coffee down and crossing her arms, the damn grin returning to her face. "You're really in a low level than me, all cursing and weak temper"

"Oh, Loren, you should know by now that I've been swallowing that attitude of yours for so long" You stepped closer to her, basically boiling in anger as you held the stained fabric of the blouse in your fingers. "And now I could really beat it off…"

Your speech was cut due to the door of the office opening, revealing San, and his assistant, Mr. Jung Wooyoung. "Is everything okay here?" Your husband spoke, noticing the scene and had already heard the yells and swears from outside.

Right before you could say something, spoke Lauren with a high pitched voice, trying to sound cute, maybe? It didn't work, she sounded pathetic. "Mr. Choi! You came at the right time! I accidently spilled coffee on her, and now she's cursing at me and even threatening me!"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, noticing him arching a brow and his gaze shifting between you both. Already knowing the banter that happened inside this office and gave an annoyed sigh away.

"Ms. Lauren, I would like to ask you to go to my office alongside Mr. Jung and wait for me there, so we can discuss things better later…"

The woman tried to object but he glared at her, so she complied. Once they left the office, San closed the door and put his hands on his trouser's pockets, sighing again. "Are you hurt, sweets?"

"No, I'm fine… but that- woman! she…! ugh, I hate her" You tried to be composed, trying to not lose your temper yet again, and grabbed some paper tissues, trying to clean your blouse as your husband walked closer to you.

"Shh, it's okay, I'll make sure to remind her she's not in middle school anymore." He stopped in front of you, giving a soft smile that made his sweet dimples appear. To top the small growing flushness on your face, he placed a lock of your hair behind your ear.

You looked down and sighed. "... I'm just tired, you know... having to deal with such things, I know she's good at her job, but..." He grabbed your chin, making you look up at him. "I think I'm tired of having to hide that we're together, I'm tired of working here..."

He frowned at such thing, understanding you. "No, don't even imply that, you can't leave! And it was you who decided to... you know, be it a secret. Since we started dating, baby" He grabbed your hand that was still trying in vain to clean the stained cloth.

"… I know, but… I just don't want it anymore. And people are already speculating we're too close…" You looked up at him once again, and now he was taking you to the toilet in the office. "And I'm not that good designer, it wouldn't—"

He cut you before you could finish. "What? your the best in what you do, sweets. And I'm not saying it out of favoritsm." He chuckled as he placed you in front of the sink, making you lean there. "You're incredible in your work, i can't lose you to another brand and suddenly the sales starts to fall..."

He kept smiling, it slowly turning into a grin as he started to unbutton your blouse, slowly, but precisely. "And I know you're too restless to be doing nothing at home, you'd go crazy after one month of not working..." He chuckled again, being attentive with the buttons. His concentrated face made you smile, and he looked extra handsome like this — not as sexy as when he is mad, but almost there.

"… Ugh, why do you know me so well, Mr. Choi?" You smiled wider, tilting your head a bit. He grabbed a paper towel and wetted it, then started to clean your skin with it. The cold water made you shiver and when he placed a hand on your waist you shivered even more, and he smirked at that.

"You cold, hon?" Sarcast man, you rolled your eyes playfully at him.

"Yeah, freezing completely" You snorted a laugh at him, leaning your hands on the sink too.

"Poor little thing, good for you that I know just right how to heat you up." He spoke with a smirk going ear to ear, totally devilish, and leaned closer to your neck, starting to place small kisses on the skin.

You giggled at him, but once he started suck small hickeys under your ear you noticed he wasn't playing. His big hands gripped your waist tightly, and before you could notice you were sitting on the sink.

Cupping his face between your hand, you pulled him to look up at you, and pressed your lips on his. His hand tangled on your hair as he deepened the kiss, the other playing with the waistband of your pants. "Can i?" It came as a soft murmur off his lips, looking at your flushed face. You nodded and murmured some agreement, lifting your hips to help him pull down your bottoms.

"Already wet, sweets?" You rolled your eyes at his grin, his skilled fingers running down your slit, pressing firmly at your clit.

"You're fault" The answer you received was another kiss and a finger entering your tight hole, slowly pumping in and out, teasingly.

With some whines coming from you, he put another finger in, and started fucking you properly with them while his thumb rolled small circles on your clit. You start kissing his neck, pulling him closer to you.

"Mgn! please, San… s'good…!" He smirked at your low moans and pleads, fingering you with more force.

"Hmm? Please what, baby?" You moaned at his teasing tone, gripping his shoulder tighter when he curled up his fingers just right on that sweet spot inside of you, making you moan louder. "Shh, we're at the office. And use your words"

"Please, San… Need you in me" You murmured, placing a peck at his cheek, just above one of his dimples, and he quickened the pace of circling your clit.

"Needing my cock, Mrs. Choi?" Earning a whine from you alongside an eager nod, he pecked your lips and removed his fingers from you, bringing to his mouth as he sucked on them. His smirk grew as he noticed your flushness. "Yeah, you do"

San turned you around, making you face the mirror. As he gripped your hips, slowly caressing them and pressing kisses to your shoulders, he suddenly gave your ass a smack, marking you red. "For you wanting to leave my company—" Another one. "For you saying you're not good enough—" Another one. And a high pitched moan came from you, so you earned two more. "Well, for hiding you're mine, and making loud noises where you can't..."

"Fuck… ugh! More p-please…!" Your husband barely started ruining you and you already were a whimpering mess under him, looking at his reflection on the mirror and his menace grin, and the pink tint on his cheeks wouldn't go unseen — oh how he looked hot.

He started caressing and squeezing where slapped you, alongside pressing his clothed shaft at your rear, rolling his hips on yours teasingly. "Patience... hm?"

Not much longer of his mean teasing, he unblocked his belt and tugged his pants down. A gasp left your lips once you felt the aching tip of his cock grazing your folds, collecting wetness before he entered your hole, a deep groan escaping right on your ear. "F-fuck... so tight— no matter how much I fuck ya, huh?" All you could do was nod and grip on the edges of the sink.

Keeping his pace slow but firm and earning small gasps from you, San placed his hands on your hips, pulling your rear closer to him as he started to fuck you faster and deeper, and ever so slightly groaning a bit.

The second you felt his thumbs press down on the dimples above your ass, your back arched and you had to bit your lower lip to keep from moaning loudly. "S'good, San...! please...! I'm- ngh!" your voice came as a babble under your breath, low moans escaping your lips even if you tried so hard to not let them.

"Fuck sweets… clenching h-hard, hm? Wait a bit, cum with m-me, fuck please…!" He murmured in your ear, and he pace quickened, fucking you even deeper as he bruised your insides.

You nodded desperately, bringing your shaky hand to grab his wrist on your back, gasping leaving your lips. Feeling his cock throbbing inside of your cunt, you knew he was close and the uncontrollable clench of your walls only quickened the process. "San...! baby I'm close... pleaded l-let me...!" He lost at your pleading and nodded, knowing you could see his reflection on the mirror and returned to kiss your neck and your shoulder.

Biting your lower lip as you come so you wouldn't scream, you felt his dick painting your insides white with thick ropes of cum, filling you up completely you felt dizzy. Your husband stopped, just breathing heavily alongside you, and groaning at the feeling of your walls fluttering against him.

"Have your anger faded away?" His murmur in your ear made you scoff a laugh, just being able to nod at how numb you felt.

Seeing his own cum spill out of your pussy once he pulled out made him moan and lean down to press an affectionate kiss to it. You squirmed and moaned, mumbling some incoherent words too, he just giggled and helped you clean up and dress up again.

"Fuck this was good…" Your murmur made him smirk, and the sight of your husband removing his blazer, tossing over your shoulders.

"Mhm, damn right it was" San's smirk softened into a smile and he pecked your lips again, running a hand down your hair. "Let's fix her behavior now, shall we?" His voice came more casual as he buttoned the blazer.

"Please, i need her to grow up" You both giggled and left the small bathroom office, holding hands together like a normal couple.

[musicalcode]

This is such an interesting take to me because, by contrast, I really am just here for the writing and plot.

Don't get me wrong, there are certain characters that I am particular about, but for the most part? I'm usually reading fanfiction from media I have barely consumed, let alone have strong opinions on, so any fic I read is welcome to go wild on their characterization. The kind old mentor is actually an evil mastermind? The close friends turn out to be backstabbing assholes? The evil asshole is somehow in the right and ends up with the protagonist? Fuck yeah walk me through these fun scenarios where everyone's actions are interpreted completely differently from canon (or even fanon). Make someone cartoonishly evil. Turn the antagonist into a pathetic little meow meow. There is no wrong answer as long as I find it enjoyable.

Truly one of the oddest feelings is reading a fic that is so out of character but the writing and plot is so compelling. Like yeah I came here for the characters but yeah you know what I will read your original novel with the serial numbers plastered on

[streamsofmoon]

mechanic!vi x f!reader

a/n: missed vi and needed to write about her 😞

vi's been working at the same mechanic for years now, and her co-workers know next to nothing about her. she's always been quiet, preferring to keep to herself because her life is her business. sure, she'll have a couple of drinks once the work day's done, but she'll never stay out later than necessary.

why?

"i gotta get home to my wife," she'll say, her eyes softening at the very thought of you. and it stuns her colleagues each time because vi's eyes don't soften. her default expression keeps people at a distance; it makes her inaccessible just the way she likes it.

but whenever she mentions you, that expression disappears to showcase a hint of genuine adoration. a love that has people going still and silent in its presence because it feels sacred—feels reverent.

for that reason alone, speculations of who vi's wife is circles the shop. some wonder if you're similar to vi or vastly different. some already have ideas of what you'd look like, all based on what they think vi would find attractive. it's all silly guessing games; a betting pool is born from these guesses, all of it done sneakily, so vi never knows.

some try to sneak glances at her phone when she's using it. on the hope that you're her background photo. but vi's always too quick, too precise with her business that even a little peek is frankly impossible.

this goes on for weeks until they decide to give it a rest, especially when vi's glare nearly killed a man when she caught him trying to sneak a look at her phone.

the guessing games die down, and the betting pool remains untouched without a winner.

work returns to normal.

until one day.

you come into the shop on a sunny afternoon, dressed in a loose pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. you're holding a lunchbox in your hands, your eyes glancing around the workshop floor. like you're looking for someone in particular.

gorgeous is the first thing that comes to mind when they see you. your smile warm and friendly as you're approached to see who you're looking for. you barely get a chance to describe said person when your eyes light up like shining stars.

"vi!" you exclaim happily, immediately running over to her with outstretched arms. everyone watches with gaping jaws at the sight of vi with her arms already open, absolutely delighted at your presence. she catches you easily, lifting you into her embrace as she captures your lips in a deep kiss.

you respond enthusiastically, wrapping your arms around her neck and legs around her waist. you hum into the kiss, lips still curved in a smile before you're pulling away, giggling when vi eagerly chases after your mouth.

"stop it," you scold playfully, tapping her nose which she cutely scrunches up. "you forgot your lunch." you show her the lunchbox you hold carefully in one hand. "this is the second time this week. i feel like you're doing this on purpose."

vi gasps in feigned offense, already carrying you to the empty break room. "if you're implying i purposefully leave my lunch at home so my hot wife delivers it for me at work, then you're sorely mistaken."

"sorely mistaken, my ass," you reply, grinning as you’re carted away.

"oh yeah," vi says before turning to her shocked colleagues, her expression stoic. "i'm going on my break. be back in an hour. if you need me, don't."

then she's back to smiling at you, soft eyes and softer voice as she responds to your endearing rambling. the door to the break room opens and shuts, a startling noise in the heavy silence as everyone processes what just happened.

it's then unanimously agreed that no one wins the betting pool.