#but I know this already I’m rude and arrogant

[berrryparfait]

sex pollen ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: zayne, xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: spring is here, and the "thorny" flower is in season. beware, unsuspecting farm visitor, lest you inhale the evil flower's pollen and fall victim to its whims... 「this urge... i can't resist it anymore—!」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, literal sex pollen; "spontaneous and urgent need to have sex", piv, creampie, intense orgasms, dubcon, characters are not dating nor have they ever f*cked before (frenemies)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: pelican town (from the stardew valley soundtrack)

✧ a/n: was the stardew valley soundtrack too unhinged or... anywaysss sex pollen is one of my all-time favorite tropes ever so here's my take on it <3

Sure, he might not be your favorite person in the world, but just for today, you're content with being acquaintances. For what it’s worth, if there’s anything worse than spending a whole day with your begrudging frenemy, it’s losing.

The annual Spring Corn-Picking Festival has begun, and you’ve been paired up with him. Can you put your differences aside and put your skills to the test? Or is there something else—something sinister—lurking beneath the surface, waiting to strike?

The “thorny” flower is in bloom, and no one is safe…

“Follow my lead if you want to win. I did my research, so I know where all the best spots are.” He parts the thick maize, making way for the both of you to trudge through the field. You roll your eyes at his predictable arrogance. “Please. I used to live on a farm. I know my way around—” You trip on a small rock and stumble into his back. He barely even glances at you. “Be quiet if you don’t want to sabotage our mission.” Rude. “Hey, there’s some up there.” You both dart towards the bunch of ripe corn a few feet away, no longer weary and complacent. Placing his basket on the ground, he begins to expertly pluck the corn from their stalks, intense concentration written all over his face.

All of a sudden, a strange smell hijacks your nostrils. “Do you smell that?” He grimaces and looks around, apparently sensing it too. It’s…strange. Foreign. Not entirely unpleasant. The flesh between your legs throbs. Why do I feel…? Your eyes lock with Zayne’s, then travel down to his groin. He’s hard. It takes him two seconds to close the distance between you. “Zayne, what’s going on—” He yanks your overalls down and grasps at your breasts, the expression on his reddened face absolutely feral. “I-I don’t know—” he stammers, still smearing his hands all over your plump chest. “But I can’t stop…” He pulls your panties down in one fell swoop to find you already dripping wet. His pupils dilate at the sight, and his hands automatically move to undo his belt. It doesn’t take long for him to free his erection, which is so large by now you almost feel bad for him. “Wait, we’re in a corn field—” Your words are abruptly cut off by him spinning you around and plunging his cock between your folds, and you have to cling to the sturdy stalks to prevent yourself from falling over. A hand goes over your mouth to conceal your surprised moans. He has you bent over in front of him, back arching against his dick as he thrusts into you and curses under his breath. I don’t like you! You don’t like me! Why does this feel so good?! “Fuck— I can’t stop—” His groans are strangled and pained, his hips moving so fast the field around you blurs into a mess of pale green and yellow. Expletives escape his lips as he slams into you so hard you both come undone, his hot, thick cum filling you up and dripping down your legs as you spasm and shake under his grip. You’re panting. He looks like he can’t even breathe. “What the fuck was that, Zayne?!” you scream at him, flustered and so utterly confused. “It’s that damn flower��� Fuck. I’m sorry.” You pull your overalls back up and shake your head, unsure how to feel about all of this. “Let me make it up to you— Dinner. Tonight.” Tiny butterflies drift into the field.

“Would you quit micromanaging?” He glares at you before turning back to the corn, both hands wrapped around its plush kernels. “I’m just saying, twisting it out might be faster.” Always pouting, always bickering. It’s the only thing you two ever do. You’ve never denied that it bothers you, the way he acts as if you’re beneath him. “If you’re so confident, you do it.” You take the bait and push past him, sandwiching yourself between him and the stubborn stalk of corn. A smug grin plays at his lips when you fail to pull—no, twist—it out, his arms crossed over his chest.

Xavier sneezes. He brushes it off as a one-time thing at first, but then he sneezes again. Hay fever? he thinks to himself. Suddenly, the image of you working your hands around the cob of corn—squeezing and pulling at its base—is too much for him to bear. He’s imagining his dick in its place. You don’t realize it at first, but you’re getting wet. You feel the abrupt, inexplicable need to grind against something. Anything. All at once, you push Xavier to the ground and sit down on top of him. “Do you feel that?” you whisper between gasps, the pool of need between your legs growing by the second. He nods breathlessly, uncertain, but wanting all the same. Your hips involuntarily roll against his, and you both suppress a moan. The next thing you know, you’re grinding against his rock-hard cock and relishing the sounds of his tortured groans. “I’m—so horny—right now—” His voice is fried, needy. You lift the skirt of your dress and pull your panties to the side, clearly sopping wet. His jeans are unzipped. In what seems like an unimaginable moment, you’re bouncing on his dick and screaming out in pleasure. Why does he…feel so good… Your thoughts are a mess, part confusion and part unbridled lust. The way he rubs against your walls, jerks upwards to meet your thrusts, whimpers like a man starved—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You roll your hips at just the right angle, and he gets impossibly bigger before shooting warm spurts of cum into your cervix, his thighs clenching underneath yours as the most intense orgasms the both of you have ever had crash over your joint bodies. You roll over to lie down beside him, still in shock. “W-What was that?!” He turns to look at you and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—ironic, considering your entire head’s a complete mess. “I didn’t know you had that in you. You didn’t even kiss me.”

“Perhaps we’d get there more quickly if you stopped whining,” he jabs, already five feet ahead of you. His demeanor remains cool and composed, yet frustration simmers beneath the surface, visible only to those who know the enigma of a man well enough. Unfortunately, “those” includes you. “I just can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. Of all people.” Without looking back, he replies, “Are you sure this isn’t your desire for me speaking? Because judging by the way you were eyeing me just now…” You huff at his ridiculous statement. “Ha! You wish. Sleeping with you is the last thing I’d ever want, so keep dreaming, buckaroo.”

You don’t hear his reply. A sharp, almost sweet scent attacks your senses, conquering your mind almost instantly. You sway amongst the stalks of grass, trying to make sense of the sudden urge you’re feeling—the urge to bury Sylus’ dick between your legs. I hate him I hate him I hate him— Your hands reach out to grab him before you can stop them, and he spins around abruptly to gently push you away. “Having a change of mind?” He means the question as a joke, but the sound of his gravelly, seductive voice only intensifies the throbbing in your cunt. “Shut up and fuck me,” you spit, fully convinced you’ve gone insane. But he doesn’t object. The cocky grin vanishes from his face as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, apparently devoted to the task. His underwear is still on by the time he’s lying on top of you, pupils dilated and erection rock solid. Overcome, he dry-humps your clit for a whole minute, the pressure so rewarding that he can’t bring himself to remove his boxers. “Fuck, baby— What are you doing to me?” He hisses when you yank them down yourself, eager to bury his cock deep inside you. No time is wasted. In a single thrust of his hips, he’s plunging all the way into you, so big you cry out in delicious pain. Your hips move in tandem with his, mud covering your back and seeping into your hair—but you couldn’t care less. His length is pumping in and out of you so hard your eyes roll to the back of your head, and distantly you wonder how long you’ve secretly needed—wanted—this. He grunts with each jerk, wet squelches filling the air as the strawberry-picking competition is forgotten, sweet release the only thing on his mind. A stutter—a falter, and he erupts, his thick seed coating your walls and seeping out of your pussy. You both fall silent as the pleasure consumes your bodies, so good your eyes squeeze shut and your throat goes completely dry. “I’m…a mess…” you mutter between pants, pushing him off of you. “Who wants to sleep with who now?” He shoves his pants back on and—blushes?! “It must’ve been that flower. Though… It’s worth mentioning that I’m immune.”

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get this over with.” He doesn’t seem thrilled to be wading through a cornfield with the likes of you, one of his childhood tormentors. Well, he’d tormented you back, of course—middle school turf wars were no joke. You both grew up and learned to tame your reactions a little, but some things never change. The fact that you’re still stuck in the same small town with him, for instance. “After all these years, Caleb is still a jackass,” you quip, already making your way towards a ripe bunch of corn. “You’re just jealous I never dated you.”

The wind blows, and you scrunch your nose at the scent it carries. “Shh— Do you smell that?” His eyes go wide as realization hits, and he rushes to cover your nose and mouth with his hands. “It’s that devil flower that spews aphrodisiacal pollen. Don’t. Breathe.” His expression is grim as he clamps his mouth shut, but he’s already starting to squirm. A small pit of arousal emerges in your core, but he’s clearly having a harder time than you are, the outline of his hard cock visible through his trousers. “Caleb…?” you ask tentatively as his hands slide away from your face, flexing indecisively before reaching towards you. “Caleb, wait a second—” He’s on his knees, pulling your shorts and panties down. Oh my god, this can’t be happening— You gasp as his tongue glides against your clit, the simple movement leaving you wanting more. Your hips grind against his face as you moan his name, lost in the lovely vibrations of his own groans of pleasure. “Get on the ground.” His tone leaves little room for debate. You lie flat on the soil, back towards the sky, and turn to look at him over your shoulder. His dick is out, precum coating the tip as it beelines straight for your inviting cunt. Pure bliss overcomes your system when he first glides in, your walls instantly slickening in response. He pounds into you from behind, his whimpers mingling with yours as you’re swept away by the feeling of finally having Caleb inside you. It’s surreal—ten years ago you would’ve laughed at the thought. Now your mouth hangs open for different reasons. “Faster, Caleb—” you squeak, desperate to reach your climax. He drives into you, clenching hard before he drenches your pussy, a steady stream of cum dripping down onto the soil below. “Holy fuck… I’m sorry…” he whispers, getting up to put his pants back on. An unexpected wave of laughter hits as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body sated and…comfortable. “Don’t you dare blame this on the pollen.” He sighs wearily and smiles. “I’m not.”

“If we don’t win, I’m blaming it on you.” Great. This detour was all your fault. You can’t believe this guy. First, he makes no effort to help with navigation. Next, he decides that if anything goes wrong, you’re to blame? Sweet crackers, he’s the most insufferable fool you’ve ever met. Sure, he’s charming—the old ladies back at the farm couldn’t have made it clearer—but you don’t get to have a competitive streak when you’re not the one doing the streaking. Seriously, he’s slow as hell. “Stop talking and walk.”

“There’s something in the air,” he remarks, squinting. It’s the first time he’s paid attention to anything today, so you hear him out and begin sniffing your surroundings. You detect nothing and call him a big baby, resuming your search for corn. “I’m being serious! I swear it’s doing something to me…” He turns away then, so hastily your suspicions are raised. “J-Just gimme a sec!” he calls over his shoulder, “Lemme take care of something real quick—” You turn back around, tired of his antics, but a barely concealed groan stops you dead in your tracks. He’s jerking off in broad daylight, his head thrown back in relief. “Rafayel, what the f—” You feel it then, the throbbing ache in your pussy, and suddenly his presence no longer annoys you. You inch towards him, eyeing his hard cock as he pumps it with his fist. At the sight of you staring up at him with a strange, unabashed lust, his thighs clench and he moans your name, the sound of it on his lips sending waves of arousal down to your core. You push him down by the shoulders so he’s sitting upright on the ground, dick so hard it looks miserable. “Bounce on it,” he orders. In the span of two seconds, your panties are pushed to the side and your cunt is enveloping his cock. You’re so full, so dirty with him between your legs—Does it feel better to fuck someone you pretend to hate? His thumbs bruise your hips as you keep your pace, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it, his tip crushing against your cervix the only thing on your mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he breathes before pumping his fresh cum into your pussy, your combined cries of pleasure so loud a neighboring flock of birds takes flight. Defeated, you lean against him in his lap, still shaking with desire. His hand goes up to rest on your head, his touch surprisingly tender. “I’ve been waiting all year for that.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, katsuki/reader are friends w/ benefits, they are not officially dating, pro hero!katsuki, hickies/bruises/mentions of burn marks, swearing, orgasm denial, inappropriate quirk usage, katsuki’s bad at feelings, katsuki is unreasonably jealous, erm.. light?? blood kink, it’s soft at the end though, happy kinktober everyone GENRE: SMUT & FLUFF SUMMARY: katsuki doesn’t approve of the way shouto was looking at you—even though you’re both single and he has no real claim over you. WORD COUNT: 2.7K 🦊’s A/N: i can’t believe i’m the opening act but here we are; i rlly hope you guys enjoy what we have lined up for y’all :3

     katsuki bakugou is mean and rude, possessive and somewhat controlling, and an arrogant bitch. whatever he wanted, he got; whenever something was his, everybody would be sure to know it. this, of course, translated a little too naturally into his sex life. 

     and when it came to you? god have mercy.

     “shit–! katsuki!” you whine as he bites cruelly at the tender skin of your inner thighs before sucking over the spot, making sure his teeth grazed over the sensitive, heated flesh. 

     “huh?” though on the quieter side, his voice was just as gruff as it always was. 

     “please—!” is all you’re able to breath out as the large, calloused hands forcing your legs apart begin to spark, and—ow! fuck! “katsu! what the fuck is wrong with you!?” 

     “tch, like you don’t know,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes. surely you were just playing dumb. there was no way you didn’t know what the fucking problem was. he thinks back to your little conversation with shouto earlier—where that icyhot bastard practically eyefucked you the entire time (he had not, actually; it was just katsuki’s awful, Awful jealousy and insecurities flaring up despite you two not even being an item). 

     all you knew, though, was that he had been like this all damn night! biting you all over your flushed body — absolutely nowhere was safe from his teeth; your neck and throat, chest and midriff—hell, he even managed to leave hickies along your ribcage for christ’s sake!—and now, he was working on your thighs. 

     but if all that wasn’t already enough, his hands had occupied your hips most of the time as his quirk popped off repeatedly as his grip only tightened, not only leaving bruises in the shape of his fingertips, but also scorch marks on the flares of your hips. 

     “i don’t!” you protest in vain. in your mind, your conversation with shouto hadn’t crossed your mind—so the idea that katuski might be jealous? didn’t even register. 

     “yeah, right,” he barks out a laugh before diving back between your legs, burying his face into the fat of your thighs, where he sucked at the horribly sensitive skin there. and when you tried to close your legs around his head? he used his fucking quirk to keep them spread!

     his sweaty palms had no problem with igniting small scale explosions against your heated and tender flesh, leaving behind little burn marks in their wake.

     “god—dammit, katsuki!” you wail as his mouth gets dangerously close to your cunt, just to avoid it all together. “please—just! what's wrong?!” it's all you can do to choke back frustrated tears as your fuck buddy goes about leaving his physical claim on you—while leaving you all hot and bothered in the process. 

     “nothing's wrong, bitch—” his voice is strained and he sounds…… almost emotional? oh shit, was something seriously the matter? 

     in attempt to check up on him, one of your hands comes up to tug lightly at his spiky hair so he’ll look at you, but instead, he snatches your wrist up tightly, so hard you swear there’ll be bruises soon, as he looks up at you with narrowed, fiery eyes—they seemed…. glossier than they typically were; not that he looked like he was on the verge of tears or anything, but more so that he looked visibly distraught. 

     “keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself,” he spits out, his significantly larger hand sparking and popping around your poor wrist, and you can’t help but let out a yelp. 

     your faux concern was starting to piss katsuki off, and he physically can’t help the way his brows twitch and furrow in anger. there was no way you were really this dumb? (hey, einstein, maybe just, and here's an idea: tell them directly!) with a snarl, he bares his teeth (like a goddamn dog) and bites down harshly against the skin of your upper inner thigh, and he only bites down harder when you squeal and yell out his name, trying to free your wrist from his bruisingly tight grip. 

     in a desperate attempt to get him to calm down, you meekly choke out an apology—you didn’t know what you were sorry for, but you prayed it would be enough for bakugou to quit seething and just focus on something other than his anger.

     “‘ll show you sorry,” he grunts, picking a new spot on the fatty flesh of your thighs to bite down on—this time, a few tears manage to slide down your cheeks as he bites so hard, you swear to god you felt the skin tear. 

     “ow–! katsu–ki! jesus christ!” your free hand now comes down to try and push his head away from in between your legs as you squirm uncomfortably on the bed. your efforts are in vain, however, as he begins sucking against the freshly marred skin, sloppily laving his tongue over the spot so he could lick up the blood he had, in fact, drawn. “‘m sorry—whatever i did, i'm sorry!” you cry out pathetically, causing katsuki to pause in his actions as his eyes flit upwards to meet your glassy ones.

     “that's funny, you don't look very sorry,” he comments gruffly, the hand still placed on your thigh suddenly begins to pop off and spark against your reddened flesh.

     “nngh–! fuck’s sake! what has gotten into you!?”  

     “nothing, i told you already,” he grunts out, the corner of his lips twitching in annoyance as he looks up at you, and suddenly humping the mattress while he lays between your thighs isn’t enough for him. 

     before you have time to question him again, he had already moved so he was hovering over you as he had been at the beginning of your little rendezvous, and after releasing your wrist, he uses one hand to support himself while the other tugs his all too tight boxer briefs down enough for his almost painfully hard cock to spring free. and in one swift movement, he gathers both your wrists in one large hand before pinning them above your head while his free hand grabs his dick to line it up with your embarrassingly wet slit, barely getting the tip in before he just has to bottom out entirely—right up to the base as he lets out a groan louder than he’d meant to. it wasn’t like it was his fault, though! you just felt soooo good; how was he supposed to keep his cool? (not that he kept it in any other aspect of his life……)

     “aa–aah! nngh–! fuck! katsuki! you—mmfgh!” your words are cut off by a kiss, however, and your eyes widen at the sudden feeling of his slightly chapped lips against yours and your wrists struggle in his horribly tight grip, unsure of how to react — you had both agreed on no kissing when originally setting up boundaries during sex! truthfully, you didn’t think it would have lasted as long as it had — as you had almost kissed him several times prior, but always caught yourself before you had the chance to make a fool out of yourself — but you never would have thought katsuki would be the one to break that rule! ?!?!

     arching your back as he begins to thrust his hips, slowly at first, before quickly picking up the pace, you reluctantly give in to the kiss as your chest presses against his. 

     katsuki, meanwhile, was buzzing with too many unfamiliar emotions to process — it wasn’t that he was a simple man per se, far from it, in fact, but his primary emotion was anger, and was one of the few ways he knew how to express himself. now, though, he finds himself in highly unfamiliar territory as his heart hammers in his chest; the last time he had been this genuinely scared was the time he had been kidnapped by the league of villains, and even then, he thinks he prefers it to the way he felt right now. the fear of rejection absolutely plagued his mind the moment his lips had crashed against yours, but it was way too fuckin’ late to change that now, so instead, he doubles down and allows his tongue to slip out and slide over the seam of your lips before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and nips at it hard enough to draw the smallest bit of blood. 

     “nngh–!” you had no clue what the hell was wrong with katsuki until he reluctantly pulls away from the kiss and, for the first time in. …? as long as you can recall, he looks so…… vulnerable, like he was scared (and he was!), and for some reason, that just broke your heart.

    “just talk to me, katsuki,” you say softly, tongue flicking over your slightly bloody lip as you look up at him through thick, tear-dampened eyelashes. before you two were fuck buddies, you had managed to become good friends; given, the dynamic was a bit odd, as bakugou was not known for being a “friendly” person, let alone perceived as sociable, but. here he was! balls deep in his best friend, whom he wanted all to himself without even realizing until, well, just now, really.

     “i don’t want you talking to that icyhot bastard ever again,” he finally spits out, voice nearly cracking. he keeps his shit together, though, as he continues to fuck you like he hates your guts. “you’re mine, got it?” his cheeks are flushed red (a rare sight) as he pants heavily from on top of you, embarrassed by his own words, even though you obviously needed to hear them in order to remember who you belong to. …even though the two of you never disclosed the other couldn’t fuck anyone else; even though you were fully free to decide who you wanted to suck, lick, n fuck, katsuki hopes—silently prays, even—that you’d decide he was the only one you needed. 

     “what?” your eyes fly open at his words and your body freezes beneath him. “ka–katsuki, ‘m not yours—” he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces before you’re even done speaking, and he has to bite his tongue from lashing out. “we’re not even dating! y–you can’t be possessive over s–somethin’ that’s not— not even yours!” you try to reprimand him until you see the look that came over his face—the way his pouty lips tug into a deep frown and brows furrowed lightly, not out of anger but, rather, confusion—and suddenly you can’t bring yourself to scold him anymore. seeing katsuki, someone usually so outwardly hardened and tough, look this pitiful….. well, it made your heart ache, and your own expression softens as his pace subconsciously slows down as he waits with bated breath until you’re done talking.

     “oh, katsuki,” you sigh deeply, rolling your hips gently upwards to meet his as you look up at him with watery eyes. “you’re such an idiot,” you can’t help but giggle as you crane your head upwards in an attempt to kiss him once again — what the unfortunate blond hadn’t realized is that you had been in love with him within the first year of knowing him. 

     “huh?!” is his immediate response before you had leaned in for a kiss, and suddenly the dots click. he easily closes the distance between the two of you (not that there was much to begin with), and kisses you a little more softly this time, a little less angrily. 

     after a very heated moment, katsuki slowly pulls away and looks at you sincerely — his heart not quite on his sleeve, but as close to that as he’s ever been, ready to shut down at the first sight of genuine rejection; but before he gets the chance to stew on the thought any harder, you break him out of his headspace by saying exactly what he needed to hear.

     “there’s nothing going on between shouto and i—in fact, i haven’t even dated anyone in years because of you,” you tell him, wrists straining against his grip again and, this time, he gets the cue and gently releases them so you can tenderly cup his face and bring him in for another kiss. carefully moving your lips against his, you moan softly, asking for him to start fucking you again, and he happily obliges, with a renewed confidence at your admission. 

     katsuki really does feel like an idiot as his hips roll against yours, fucking you with a different kind of resolve this time.

     “‘ve been in love with you since our second year of high school,” you confess, a little quietly. it doesn’t go unheard by katsuki, however, and a smirk stretches across his face as he quirks an eyebrow up at you. you two had only started hooking up once he had gone pro and desperately needed an outlet for his stress.

     bakugou finds himself rendered speechless for once in his loud-mouthed life and he isn’t quite sure how to process your words. he believed you, mostly, but……. it was just very difficult to believe because….. well, why wouldn’t you want todoroki over him? it seems like the obvious choice, no? and yet…. here the two of you are, bodies sweaty and entwined as you both pant in attempt to catch your breaths, and you move to wrap your arms around his neck when you notice that faraway look in his eyes coming back—falling victim to his own mind once more.

     “‘m serious, kats,” you say sternly, brows furrowing as you move your sore legs to wrap around his narrow waist, crossing them at the ankle and pull his hips flush against yours. “mmh,” your heart is hammering at what you’re about to say, but you’ve already come this far. “i love you, katsuki bakugou,” you say softly, threading your fingers through his unnaturally spiky blond locks as you look up at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes.

     katsuki’s eyes widen considerably at your words, and instead of bringing himself to choke out an i love you too, he kisses you deeply and shallowly thrusts his hips against yours as his tongue easily slides into your already parted lips, already having prepared yourself to not receive a verbal answer from katsuki. you knew he was absolutely god fucking awful at words, and you didn’t exactly expect him to reciprocate your feelings.

     in your mind, he only picked you as his fuck buddy because he had known you too long and he wasn’t the type to fuck strangers, when in reality it was because katsuki was disgustingly in love with you, not that he had realized that prior to now—your words had awoken something in him and it feels so unfamiliar, and the unfamiliarity is what causes him to almost fumble you—almost, he has enough sense about him to mumble the quietest, raspiest, aggressive i guess i love…. he chokes on the word itself, never actually having had said it before—ever?—but manages to spit it the fuck out so he doesn’t lose the best friend—and pussy—he’s ever had. he sounds confused when he says finally manages to say an i love you, too but the fact that he even brought himself to say something so inherently soft and vulnerable (even if his tone wasn’t) cause your eyes to fly open in raw shock and disbelief, fully unable to believe your ears. 

     “you—you do?” no. there was no way he had just said that!

     “don’t make a big deal out of it, and don’t expect to f'me to say it again anytime soon, y’hear?” he replies, face beet fuckin’ red, blush having spread all the way up to his ears as he moves to bury his face in the crook of your neck to hide it away from your view, where he began to nip and suck at the skin there again, only adding to the collection of hickies he had already left. ah, there’s the katsuki you fell in love with.

     you smile at his words regardless of how gruff he sounded about it, heart (and cunt) so, so full and content, your grin stretching across your face until your cheeks hurt, and you can’t help but giggle quietly as he continues to mark you up, hips moving slowly, but each thrust hitting deep, the thick tip of his dick threatening to kiss up against your cervix if he went any deeper. 

     you would have to have a discussion with him about what you two were after this, but for now, you arch your back and close your eyes as you enjoy the feel of his lips against your skin and the way his thick cock stretches you out so deliciously.

return to KINKTOBER | K. BAKUGOU M.LIST

[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[ericityyy]

Hii i love your fics💕🫃🏻

Could you write a Nam-Gyu x reader story where the reader is kind of antisocial and doesn’t speak unless spoken to? Nam-Gyu is really curious about her and tries to be her friend. Over time, they slowly fall for each other in the games.👅

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘧, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘕𝘢𝘮-𝘨𝘺𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 (??)

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 844

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Nam-gyu is an addict, a drug addict to be specific. He and Thanos take a pill every day before leaving the room for the game. The duo is always seen laughing, jittery, and even dancing.

Y/N doesn’t get that at all. Her quiet nature helps her observe the other players and even the guards. She knows that getting attached to people here can lead to problems. It’s a matter of survival, and she’s willing to use everyone and anyone to get out of these games (that she agreed on, but let’s not talk about that).

While Nam-gyu is an idiot junkie, she catches his eye. Her number 123 on her jacket gives Nam-gyu the perfect opportunity to be close to her in the dorm room and especially during voting. Her red patch with the letter ‘X’ annoys the hell out of him, though.

The game ‘Six-Legged Pentathlon’ is troublesome for her. Her quiet and cold demeanor makes people around her avoid her at any cost. That is until a girl with short hair and piercings, accompanied by a timid guy, approaches her. “Would you like to be a member of our group?” the girl asks.

Y/N glances around, weighing her options carefully, and with a resigned nod, agrees.

“I’m Se-mi,” the girl nods her head to the side where the boy is anxiously looking at them. “This is Min-su.” The boy bows as a greeting. “What’s your name?” he asks, fiddling with his fingers.

Y/N raises an eyebrow, her face showing no other expression. She doesn’t have a chance to introduce herself, though, not when they are rudely interrupted by a purple-haired junkie named Thanos.

“Señorita, excuse me?” Se-mi and Min-su turn towards the guy, who has an arrogant and smug look on his face. His arms are crossed, and he tugs his jacket like he’s about to rap, which Y/N hopes he won't. She turns her attention to the guy beside the retired (failed) hip-hop rapper. He has long hair, and is jittery as always, following Thanos like a dog.

“We already asked someone else,” Se-mi says, turning back to the conversation. She just notices that Se-mi and Min-su have moved aside to reveal the girl.

“Two girls? Dude, we don’t know what the game is; this could be risky—” Nam-gyu starts, but Thanos puts a hand on his chest, interrupting him. “What’s your name?” Thanos asks Y/N.

She gives them a cold look, puts her hands in her jacket’s pockets, and sighs heavily. “Y/N.”

Thanos smiles. “What’s up? Nice to meet you, señorita. Welcome to the Thanos world.” He curls his index finger in front of Y/N, forcefully takes her right hand from her pocket, and daps her before giving her a shoulder bump. All the while, Y/N stands flabbergasted. “You’re cute, come on!” Thanos says, leading his group to one of the circles drawn on the floor.

Nam-gyu takes this opportunity to socialize with the quiet girl, who furrows her eyebrows at Thanos. “You are cute, he’s right.” Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, rolling her eyes before speeding up to sit beside Se-mi.

That was supposed to be the plan, but instead, she finds herself squished between the two junkies. One is quivering, and the other is doing some gun motions and muttering ‘bang, bang, bang.’

・‥...━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━...‥・

The journey back to the dorm room was silent with a few mumble by Thanos, the drugs wearing down. How did Y/N know? It’s because Nam-gyu kept pestering her with a serious look on his face, “Come on, you got to talk.”

Y/N sighed, speeding up her walk after seeing the door that leads to their sleeping quarters. Going to her bed, not noticing that Nam-gyu followed her like a dog, “Just talk. Give me something, anything.”

“Why are you so persistent?” Y/N groaned, glaring harshly at the guy who smiled widely.

“I did make you talk though.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't shake the small smile tugging her lips, “So annoying, go away!”

Nam-gyu shook his head, making his hair sway with his movement. “No.”

The girl stared at him blankly, turning her face away from him, not noticing the frown that set upon Nam-gyu's face. The latter held her cheeks, forcefully facing him again, “Don’t turn away from me.”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, taking Nam-gyu’s hand from her face and twisting it, making the guy wince, “Or what?”

Nam-gyu smiled but winced once more when the girl twisted his hand more, “You’re so pretty.” Y/N’s grip faltered, giving Nam-gyu the chance to escape from her grasp. The guy took her shock as an opportunity to lean closer to her face, “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

She laughed. And it sounded so beautiful in Nam-gyu’s ears that it made him smile after seeing hers. “I doubt that.”

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

i hope this is good! first time writing for nam-gyu and tbh i don’t like him (HE KILLED SE-MI) but i like the actor, he’s so cute!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

nons

[prinzrupprecht]

When they hurt your feelings

Featuring: Indra, Loki, Poseidon, and Hades ( part 2 )

First time doing Indra so some things finna be made up in the peak of Svarga here. So bare with me on it. Loki is a fun character to write so ofc he is in part 2. Poseidon gonna be real easy to do as well so I wanted to add.

Part 1 and Part 3 if you missed them

Warnings? Yandere tendencies with Loki.

Indra

He was calm, stoic and minded his own business most of the time. When he was accepted into the tournament to fight for the final spot in Ragnarok, you were upset. Not happy, but upset.

“Why do you care? It’s not like I care whether I win or lose,” he would speak so casually while puffing on the cigarette like usual. Your eye twitched, you were his wife and he says this?

“Agh, never mind.” You had tried to leave but you just watched you turn on your heels and storm out of the room. The first match was about to begin and you would rather not even be near Indra.

You had found Shiva who was watching the first match by himself. “You got lost?” he asked but you scoffed.

“Huh? No, I’m just… bored.” You stood a bit away from him.

“Well, whatever then.” Two of his arms were propping the back of his head up. You had wondered why he was here. He doesn’t even need to be here.

“Why are you here anyway?” You pursued your lips. Shiva shrugged and sat up a bit while the first match was a bit intriguing with Ra and Cu he still was able to answer.

“Hmm I like the idea of this tournament and also, I want to see how my buddy Indra fight.” Shiva turned his head away to watch the remaining of the fight between Ra and Cu. Buddy eh?

“You don’t care if he dies?” You had asked with slight worry. You can’t deny it since it was allowed to kill your opponent. And his opponent was the red-haired man who looked cocky. You already disliked Suzaku and you hoped Indra beats him.

“That’s the whole part of this. Taking risks. It’s a risk you may die but you could also win. Indra is tough, so stop worrying.” Shiva waved you off. Even his wives weren’t even worried about Shiva being apart of Ragnarok. You were still upset how Indra didn’t care whether he dies.

You wanted to find him and support him now. As you were walking back, you still had worries fill your heart. You saw Indra off in a corner and ran up to him. He raised one brow to you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you.” You breathed out. Your cheeks puffed a bit with stubbornness.

“You ran to Shiva, didn’t you?” Indra sighed while he had an arrogant exterior. He didn’t like how you always ran to the other gods to fix your problem. He preferred you to talk it out with him.

“I… I— no! I just saw him,” you flat-out denied it. You weren’t as hurt before but you wanted him to come out of this alive.

He pulled you into his side with his arm squeezing your waist. You almost had jumped from his touch but you eased a bit from the sudden movement. Indra may be an introvert and prefers to be alone most of the time, but he still rather you stay by his side. After all, you were surrounded by gods from every pantheon. He didn’t want to have to fight everyone to keep you next to him.

Loki

Arguing with this man has become second nature. He doesn’t understand that you wanted to have some personal freedom away from Asgard. Loki always spins on you how you’re trying to leave him. Leave? Leave?! This hurt you a bit. How could you leave him? You were growing furious with his accusations.

“Sometimes Thor is more tolerable to be around than you, you should know that.” You have crossed your arms and tried to turn away.

Loki pulled your arm and that’s when you saw the new look in his eyes. It was like he changed in an instant. “Him?! He wouldn’t give you the ounce of care that I have for you, don’t you get it? I can give you whatever you want—” You jerked your arm back.

“I never tried to throw you aside, Loki. You’re always too overprotective and rude towards anyone tries to associate themselves with me.” You crossed your arms and gave him a soft glare.

“Rude? Ha! You’re mixing me up with Huginn and Munnin.” Loki was right about Odin’s ravens being obnoxious at times. You tried to not interact with them. They never shut up and were yappy and said mean things towards you. However, he tried to divert the topic. You tried to leave the room but he noticed the tension between you two was… already bad.

Loki tends to over think his thoughts and assume the worst.

He knew he wasn’t making the matter any better. “Hey! Wait, I shouldn’t have been too harsh,” Loki caught up to you. You clenched your hands into fists but sighed. His accusations can be irritating to you but it’s like he has no faith in you. No trust either.

“I’m just mad because you assume the worst sometimes. I just want to visit some family outside of the castle. It’s been ages so yes, I’m a bit hurt.” You put your foot back down and spun on your heel to face Loki.

“Fine, fine you can visit your family! I wasn’t trying to keep you away from them.” He raised his hands up innocently and gave you a smile. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to trick you into believing he doesn’t care anymore. Deep down he would rather you all to himself but he can’t force you to be with him all the time.

“Whatever, I’m not hurt anymore. When I return you’re going to burn that weird doll of me in your secret room you’ve been hiding for years. It doesn’t even look like me either.” You huffed annoyingly before stomping out of the palace. He was confused with what had happened. He wanted to retaliate but it was a losing battle with you.

You weren't mad or called him the worst names for it? Loki wasn’t sure how to feel about you finding out about that stuff he kept in his secret room. You must’ve found out about that room when you stumbled upon it one day.

He sighed in relief but he was a tad bit disappointed that he had to burn it. Oh well, as long as he had the real thing— you. Nothing would matter more than you to him.

Poseidon

You had tried for many years to impress Poseidon. You weren’t a follower, but you had admired his strength and title of king of the seas. You wanted to be notable like him.

He only acknowledged your existence whenever he treated you as a maid even though you were more than that. You were a goddess but weak in his eyes. There was no going back, no way to prove your worth to him. ‘What an ass,” you thought. You wanted to be something more, but you didn’t know how to prove it.

He would brush your politeness off when you asked if you could stay with him and clean his room. Poseidon snapped his head in your direction. “Why? There’s no need for you in my personal space. You don’t deserve my time.” His words struck like steal into your flesh. Heh? You immediately left afterwards.

Your feelings were incredibly hurt. It’s been several days since that incident and you refused to be around Poseidon. There was no way he would accept you. Any progress was gone and you were back in your room. Alone. Like usual.

You changed your position and decided to be on your own. Apollo saw you casually walking through the Olympus garden admiring the beauty of it. He thought you looked elegant and not some Poseidon simp as he had always thought you were.

“Why are you here?” Apollo tilted his head and you jumped and bowed in his presence. After all, he still has higher authority than you. You liked how you respected them but he could tell something was wrong.

“Sorry if I’m not allowed here, I’ll leave.” You waited for him to speak so you could lift your head.

“Lift your head, dear. Your position is the same as everyone else here unless you’re well… Zeus.” Apollo grimaced and wondered why you were so upset. Little to your knowledge Poseidon saw Apollo approach you moments before and decided to lean against the wall out of sight to hear in what Apollo was trying to do.

“You’re way too beautiful for someone like Poseidon to treat you like this. No need to deny it, I know I’m right.” He could read minds?! Or was it obvious you were just too much of an admirer of Poseidon?

“It’s nothing, I’ll still serve Zeus wherever I’m needed.” You tried to hide the void that Poseidon left on you but Apollo knew you so well even though you barely knew him.

“Hmm, whatever. If you want to serve someone better, you know where to find me.” Apollo swiftly turned on his feet and left out of sight. You fell silent, even though his offer was up in the air. You didn’t want to leave Poseidon still. Why were you feeling such pain still?

You were about to leave the area and when you immediately turned around, the god of the seas stood in front of you unannounced. His eyes lingered over your form and he didn’t say anything. “You want to serve my nephew?” He spoke lowly and you looked down. You were trying to not feel afraid of him.

“N-No, not at all. I only serve you…” your lips quivered.

Poseidon stepped forward and only was mere inches from you. He loathed for what Apollo said but he didn’t take it to the heart. You were too beautiful for someone like him? Maybe you were beautiful, but you weren’t undeserving of him. He refused to believe that. He was going to have a talk with Apollo later.

“Come, I’ll prove Apollo wrong.” He turned away from you. You were nervous and confused. He didn’t look over his shoulder to look at you either. Prove him wrong?

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he frowned and a glint of hope sparked in your chest. You were happy that he didn’t want to let go of you yet.

Hades

Some monster had tried to kill you again in Helheim. You were mad and wanted to be left alone before you fought the serpent monster to the death. You were strong and Hades admired you for it which was why he was interested in you from the beginning and swayed you into being his wife later on, however, he didn’t like you venturing out without his knowledge. There are far tougher things to worry about than lowly entities that would attack you at any given time.

“What did I say? You’re supposed to tell me if you’re going to leave the castle. Don’t be foolish and reckless next time.” Hades was trying to calm himself but you frowned at his words.

“I am not hurt, why are you mad?” You defended yourself from what he was implying. Did he have any faith in you? He thinks you’d die to something so easy?

“That’s not the point.” He snapped his head at you before sitting back down on his chair.

“Fine, I’ll just be bored here with you then.” You huffed and went to sit alone in a corner. Hades was growing irritated by your stubbornness. He wasn’t restricting your freedom but some areas of Helheim were completely riddled with dangerous monsters.

“My work is not boring, you on the other hand can’t even follow simple orders. It’s just a miracle I keep you alive.” Hades rested his hand on his armrest while he raised his brow to see you reading something about devils. Hades wondered why you wanted to fight them so much. He’d prefer that you stayed away from them.

You were offended by what he said. He went from being a loving husband to ‘it’s a miracle I keep you alive?!’

“You keep me alive because you feel like it? Why don’t you actually kill me right here?” You walked over to him. You thought there was more to it. Why did he want you as his wife then? Another deity who had been in Helheim longer than him and was carefree?

“That is not what I meant!” He stood up as you cowered your head. You didn’t mean to anger him and he was one of the most feared gods to exist. However, this was the first time he had ever raised his tone at you.

It was unusual for any god to be in Helheim. You were one of the few gods that resided in the dark hell hole known as Helheim and learnt how to adapt to it, you chose it over Valhalla for other reasons. You liked how you got to do whatever you wanted, up until Hades took over, and you were surprised that someone had an interest in ruling the netherwold. You had introduced yourself as just another underworld goddess. You never called yourself queen but when he asked if you were the queen of the netherworld, you were taken back. You never thought yourself as one. No, he wanted to make you his queen since that day.

When you remember how Hades became your husband, it wasn’t ever supposed to be like that. He just appeared one day and took over the shit hole while you defended yourself and lived in survival mode. He was also the one who saved you from the Titans that raided Helheim which was how you met him. You owe your life to him and it felt impossible to say no to him to be his wife. You still gave him the love he wanted but was that enough?

You refused to make eye contact with him but walked towards you and pulled you in his arms. “Why did you— Why didn’t you kill me that day? Wouldn’t it have been easier than dealing with me?” You remember the day when the Titans broke into Helheim and he fought them off and saved you from being killed by them. He spared your life despite he didn’t have to.

“No. I saw the look in your eyes. You were afraid. You wanted to live. I haven’t seen such determination in someone’s eyes.” He brushed some of your hair back behind your ear.

“It worries me that I won’t be able to save you a second time. It would be a shame with how lonely it would be without you.” His arms wrapped around your body and you calmed yourself with him holding you.

You were no longer hurt and had accepted this was the love from the man who wanted you more than anything to stay by his side.

Note: that is all for now. Sorry Loki is written as a weird dude like usual. Weird is fun and I like weird broken characters. Dunno when I’ll do part 3. I want to get back to some other things and requests.

[happy74827]

Late Night Serenity

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Harvey doesn’t particularly let out his feelings much, so when you get a call in the middle of the night, completely unannounced, it’s safe to say you’re there within a heartbeat.

WC: 1134

Category: Slight Angst, Comfort

I wrote this at 3am after watching an edit... yeah, not my brightest moment. But hey, this beauty came out of it :)

『••✎••』

“Harvey…?” You spoke into the phone, a little concerned as to why he called you at such a late hour. You were already in bed and about to fall asleep.

There was a short silence before he answered, almost as if he was waiting for the right words.

Finally, he replied, and you heard the slight hesitation in his voice, the uncertainty, and the exhaustion.

"Yeah?"

You were instantly on alert, but you made your voice calm and soft so he wouldn't hear your worry. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over?"

There was another pause, this one longer than the first. Your worry increased. You sat up, already pulling on a sweater, trying to get ready to go to Harvey's.

"No. No, it's alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. Sorry to wake you."

Your mind raced, trying to decipher Harvey's words and the hidden meaning behind them. His tone wasn't right; it was too quiet and too sad, nothing like the normal cocky, self-assured, sometimes slightly arrogant tone.

"You didn't wake me. Is something wrong, Harvey?"

You heard him sigh, then the sound of a door shutting and the muffled sounds of the city streets. He must have stepped out of his office, maybe gone outside.

"No. Everything is fine; It's okay. Go back to bed."

He didn't sound okay. In fact, he sounded a bit upset, though not like he was angry, more like he was frustrated.

You slipped on your shoes and coat, grabbed your keys and wallet, and quietly opened the door.

"Where are you? Home? I'll meet you there."

"What? No, no, that's not-"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Wait for me, okay? Don't go anywhere."

You could almost hear him frown through the phone. "I can't ask you to do that. You don't have to.”

"Harvey," you interrupted him again. "I'm coming, alright? See you soon."

You hung up before he could protest more and drove as fast as you could to his apartment.

Once you arrived, you saw that Harvey was waiting for you outside. He looked exhausted and was staring up at the sky, his hands in his pockets. He was still in his work suit but had taken off his tie and jacket, leaving his top few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up.

"Harvey?"

He jumped slightly and looked over at you. The moment he saw you, he relaxed and gave a half smile, but you could tell he was still worried.

“Hey, Bumblebee,” His nickname for you. You had told him how you hated bees when you were younger and had a fear of being stung, and ever since, he had called you Bumblebee, telling you that you were the cutest little bumblebee. It was definitely meant to be teasing, but somehow, the way he said it was never mean or rude, and you secretly loved it no matter how much you’d deny it.

“What was it? Mike?” You guessed, referring to Harvey's associate, whom he had taken under his wing a while back. Harvey shook his head.

"Jessica, actually."

You raised an eyebrow.

"She found out and wants me to fire him. But I can't, I just can't, not now."

"I’m sorry, Harv, but you knew it was a risk, right? She had to have found out eventually.”

"Yeah, I know, I just thought maybe... maybe I wouldn't have to, and we could figure something out. He’s got so much potential.”

Harvey looked down and sighed. He looked so tired, but you knew his mind was racing, always trying to find a way to fix things. He had been working with Mike for a while now, and even though he would never admit it, you knew Harvey cared about him and had grown attached to his presence.

And when Harvey gets attached, he hates to lose.

Your hands found his arms, and you squeezed gently, trying to reassure him. You had done this plenty of times in the past, and you knew it worked.

"Look at me," you told him, and he did. His dark brown eyes met yours, and you were almost startled by the amount of emotion in them. He was always good at hiding how he felt, but you could see through his mask, and you saw how upset he was.

"You’ll figure it out; you always do. And even if somehow you don't, it's not the end of the world. He could always… you know, actually, go to law school."

Harvey laughed quietly, and the sound warmed your heart. He was finally relaxing, slowly calming down.

"No, that's not an option," he replied.

"Right. I forgot how stubborn you both are."

You smiled, and Harvey smiled back. He had the most wonderful smile, the kind that always made you happy no matter what was happening.

"I'm glad you came," Harvey said, taking a step closer. His hands found your waist, and yours reached up to wrap around his neck. You could feel the warmth from his body through your clothes, and you leaned in, resting your head against his chest.

"Me too. Especially when you’re in a mellow mood," you teased. Harvey chuckled and rubbed your back. “That's rare."

"Hey," Harvey replied, feigning offense. "I'm not always a dick, you know."

"About eighty percent of the time," you grinned, looking up at him. Harvey's smile faded, and his eyes locked on yours, gazing at you with a certain intensity that made your breath catch.

You stared at each other for a few moments, neither one of you moving, until Harvey suddenly leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your cheek and the other wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you against him.

The kiss was slow and sweet but full of all the emotions that neither of you could say. There was no rush, no desperate passion or need, just the two of you together.

After a while, Harvey pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

He didn’t say anything, but you knew exactly what he was thinking. You had spent enough time with him to be able to read him perfectly.

Thank you.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for caring.

Thank you for being mine.

You reached up and kissed his nose.

"Love you," you whispered.

"I know," Harvey replied. His lips turned up into a smirk, and you rolled your eyes, trying to act annoyed but not doing a very good job of it.

“You’re proving my point, Harv.”

Harvey shrugged. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I really do."

“Good,” His lips brushed against yours, and his smile was still there, but his eyes were serious. “Glad to know we feel the same way.”

[dolphin-diaries]

Detrans/Uncis (Part 2)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

My first steps on a detransition journey were underscored by a peculiar mantra: “but I’m not detransitioning though.” I don’t feel like a man, so I’m not a trans man, but I’m still taking hormones, so I’m not detransitioning. I’m getting laser, but I’m not doing anything to my voice—hold on, actually I am. I’m lowering my dose of testosterone, actually, but I’m still taking it, and it’s not like I’m a woman. Only I want to be gendered by strangers as a woman, but that’s different. Actually I’d hate to have any further changes from T, so I’m not taking it at all—but I’m still not detransitioning though. Actually, could you speak of me as she? And her, too? No detrans though.

At a certain point it started to approach total absurdity. My friends and loved ones, well-versed in the queer gender soup, said nothing of it, but I am myself strongly averse to repression, denial, and self-deceit. So I was the first to say I was wrong. The first to say, “I am, though.” And at no point, from the beginning to the end of my epistemic conga, have I encountered any meaningful pushback from my close circles. No implications of betrayal, no cold shoulders, no silence when I walk in the room.

So why the mantra, then? Why was I so averse to the idea?

A large part of that was the politicisation of detransition; how indelibly it is associated with the Right—I said as much in my first essay. On a personal level, though, it was trivial to realise I wasn’t doing a grift. I was confident I hadn’t been brainwashed into anything. I’ve never had any meaningful contact or affiliation with any sort of gender-conservative person or movement.

And I did encounter pro-trans detransitioners. Some of them sniped back at the right-wing ones, some merely told their stories independently. Regardless, they—just like me—did not receive great or meaningful pushback from their trans friends, nor even strangers. They weren’t always understood or necessarily celebrated, but they were taken at their word, believed, and more or less respected as much as any gender deviant. Before I had any thoughts to detransition myself, I had seen detrans people beyond the pale of the rhetoric multiple times, and…

And I hated them. They made my skin crawl. I was never rude or condescending, and as those encounters were online-only, it was trivial to maintain respect and civility. I also realised I had no real cause to hate them. They’d done nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. It was easy enough to say that in principle, when they talked in the abstract, but when they spoke of their bodies, their lives, the flesh and blood of it all, I felt such visceral revulsion as I might’ve never felt before.

Or have I? Have I known this already, this knee-jerk lip curl, this morbid disgust with another’s aberrant sex? This idea in my mind, spreading like cancer, that these people were wrong? That they’ve violated something inviolable? And how civility and compassion chiselled this violent core into arrogant pity towards an untouchable other?

No, I have known this. And not such a long time ago.

The Body Horror

When I first came out as trans to my university class—cis-majority if not totality, naturally—the perverse fascination with my body was hard to escape. They were mostly polite, of course. My university was very ‘decadent Westian’ (pardon the quasi-inside joke). We were hip with it. Nevertheless—

“It’s okay for you, of course, but if my future children—”

“You mean to say you date women? How do you—”

“You mean to say you date men??”

 “I wasn’t looking at you like that in the bathroom—I mean—uh—”

You don’t need to say it outright. Sometimes you don’t need to say a thing at all. I see it. I know.

That’s to say nothing of the doctors’ dehumanising dissection and the conservatives flashing the least flattering post-operative pictures like they’re gore. As a transsexual, you don’t even need dysphoria; you will be informed of your physical monstrosity in great detail and in every possible manner, from the subtlest glance to the bloody megaphone.

You learn to see transsexual bodies this way very young and not voluntarily, but I was not just any random person. I transitioned aeons ago, and I did not find the flesh of my fellow transsexuals a subject of psychosexual fascination anymore. We were just people. I’d learned that.

I thought I did, anyway.

That’s the thing about the biases that systemic oppression seeds and wields. They are, in my experience, nothing less than psychosocial cancers. Leave one cell alive, and they will surely regrow. Maybe into a new shape, maybe into something old, but they will never die left alone.

Although I’d mentally graduated to gender abolition and genderfuckery-as-political-stance, to activism, to gender constructivism and to queering everything, especially feminism, I’d first come to see transsexuality through the lens of the DSM. Not my fault or anything—that’s what was available to me. Transsexual transition, then, was first presented to me as a linear transformation, a path from A to B, at the end of which laid gender nirvana. Or, like, happiness and fulfilment, I suppose. White-people Buddhism was fashionable at that time, so please excuse my French.

So genderfuckery was all well and good, but you know, done respectably. For me, that was performing picture-perfect transsexuality, just a little spiced-up. So long as I still appeared cis. Anything that marked me as ‘clocky’ was unseemly; although I no longer needed to see any doctors about it, I’d been trained to sniff out such features and weed them out for the sake of gaining medical access. But that’s not the only way ‘respectable gender’ is ensured in queer circles. I’ve also observed it to be an absence of transsexuality. That is, gender is to be fucked with in words and pronouns and haircuts and porn—but to transition about it would be kind of gauche, don’t you think? A little gender-conformist?

Different outcome, but for the purposes of this discussion, same principle: it is disgust with transition. Visible transition, obvious transition; transition at all. My case was not altogether different from ideological non-transitioners; it was just modified to accommodate for some alteration of sex.

After nearly a decade of virilising HRT, my detransition wasn’t simply a matter of changing my name and putting on lipstick. That would just make strangers say ‘yas gurl.’ No, if I wanted to live as a woman beyond my immediate social circle, I needed to make more invasive changes. More than that, I wanted those changes. I didn’t merely wish to say I’m a woman—I wanted to look in the mirror and believe it.

The first truth a detransitioner learns is this: to detransition, you must transition again.

Again?!

Oh, it’s not the same as your first time ‘round, sure. Not just because of the difference in desired sex; if you’ve never had your gonads removed and have no prior issues with hormone production, you can simply cease to take HRT and stop depending on the vagaries of medical supplies. Doctors will, generally, be a little more understanding of your desire to change sex. Often, from their perspective, you’re not changing it; you’re fixing it. So if you were allowed to take the so-called ‘cross-sex’ hormones, you’ll probably be allowed the ‘same-sex’ ones. Conversely, because no such thing as a ‘detransition procedure’ usually exists, it’s a dice roll if any surgery will be covered by the state, your insurance, or anything. Yes, you’re ‘fixing’ your sex—but the fact you’ve ‘damaged’ it at all renders you a bit of an unreliable witness to your own mind. A little bit crazy, you could say. Isn’t it all quite literally your own fault?

However, the day-to-day mundanities of detransition would be highly recognisable to any trans person. Indeed, I got all the ideas on how to relieve my gender dysphoria from my transfem friends. I learned of laser hair removal from them, and they advised me on voice training. Some of the professionals that serviced me had no idea I was detrans—how would they? Kind of an odd thing to randomly bring up while getting your beard fried.

‘Detrans woman’ is not a legible social category (nor any other kind of detrans person). People know what these words mean—at least, if they’re up on the latest gender lingo—but they don’t truly know what that looks like. Maybe they imagine a particular grifter when you say ‘detrans,’ maybe it’s just a void—but it’s never you. No one will ever assume that’s what you are.

So how does a detrans woman move through the world? She passes, of course. She is either assumed to be a cis woman, having worked to file off any signs of testosterone’s magic touch, or she stands out with those features. If she transitioned after adolescence, she might have a leg up on passing, but should a stranger’s transvestigation radar starts beeping, they will surely scan her for other hints. Sometimes they’ll find what was never there, and sometimes they’ll decree a feature that occurs in all women, cis and trans, a sure sign of inborn manhood. I’ve always had a visible Adam’s apple, for instance, but it didn’t use to be proof I was born a man. Now, though, take that and a bad voice day, and I don’t have a leg to stand on.

And if someone decides I don’t belong in a women’s bathroom, do you think it’ll help if I cry I was born to piss here?

Here’s the second truth a detransitioners learns: it doesn’t matter how many times you transition, to what end or for what reason. If you do it at all, you will never be cis again. It’s the real red pill—the one the Wachowski sisters intended, not what the chuds on the internet made of it. Your body, your social and legal history, your continuity of self—it is different now. Not the way it’s supposed to be. Changing sex at all was never meant to be.

Regime and Treachery

Um-actuallying people who think I’m a trans woman will not help me under most circumstances. It won’t help with a strange man in an alley, and it won’t help with an employer that discovers my last manager knew me under a male name. In one case nothing but a good run will help, and in the other—come on now, they won’t think any better of me.

It will not make me cis, and it doesn’t help—under most circumstances.

Detrans women aren’t the only ones which may be assumed for trans women. Cis women that never touched a drop of testosterone get transvestigated too—not nearly as frequently, but it happens all the same, and regularly. The case of Imane Khelif is one that probably jumps to mind first these days, but she is perhaps in the minority of women that never responded to such accusations by loudly proclaiming she is completely and utterly unlike those filthy transsexuals—she is a real woman!

Detrans women have the whole transsexuality thing in common with trans women, of course. But they aren’t quite the only ones—intersex women that were assigned female at birth are also often assumed to be transsexual. They are also subject to severe medical violence and neglect. Some require exogenous hormones to stay healthy. Some wish to take ownership of their body via voluntary sex alteration, for a change. It is rather transsexual-like, all in all.

But yet you will not search long to find similar underbus-throwing. The AFAB intersex woman is not like that trans woman—she deserves gender-affirmative treatment. She’s a real woman. The birth certificate said so.

And so too the detrans woman, despite all her history, despite the indelible mark of transsexuality, looks at the dangling carrot of Real Womanhood—and like a dog, jumps.

She will never be allowed the full extent of it. It is irreversible damage, after all. That’s important. The detrans woman that betrays her sisters—her class, even—must forever cry about the wounds transition left on her, must never heal from them. And trust me, the cis aren’t nice about it behind her back. The detrans woman is promised a shred of cis-ness, of real-ness—but only so long as she divorces herself from all things transsexual. Loudly, repeatedly. The moment she stops, she will be reminded: she too is transsexual. She has seen sex/gender for what it is; her body is evidence. She has eaten of the tree of knowledge. It’s only at the regime’s great mercy that she can peek into Eden—but god forbid, never enter.

Because what would happen if the ‘damage’ wasn’t irreversible? If society allowed the detrans woman to be a woman wholly and totally—its woman, real woman? Why, it would mean sex can be changed without repercussion. It would mean you could leave gender.

It wouldn’t quite mean that trans women are women and trans men are men—it would only allow that your birth sex can be ‘returned to.’ But if even that much was permitted, it would make transition no longer a threat. You could do it and come back just fine, see? What’s there to fear? Why not just try it? And if you can just try it, just leave and come back as you please—how can you force people to obey gender?

It would mean I could opt out of womanhood any time. Of the mandate of reproduction, of subordination, of sexual and domestic servitude—of the constant fight to break free of those things. I could opt out even if I didn’t like being a man. I’d always have one foot back in the door, if I pleased. And that’s the thing about the patriarchy: women must never be allowed to leave. Or to desist, or to fail. For that they must be punished. Want fewer lashes? Kick the weaker bitch out the door.

Cis-ness is a regime. A status quo. To define it merely by the relationship to birth-assigned sex is erroneous—intersexness reveals this, but if you’re the kind of person who thinks the intersex are some sort of rare and bizarre exception (they’re not), perisex detransitioners must surely hammer the nail home. To be cis is not merely to self-identify as the sex on your birth certificate; who’s even looking at those? It is to live in accordance with your biological destiny, and every social law that entails. This destiny is assigned at birth, yes, but it does not end there: it follows you all the way.

Cis-ness is not an identity—it is a reward for doing as you’re told.

The Freedom of Sex

It is obvious, then, why detrans medical care is a pain to get even though you’re complying with your birth sex assignment. That is the true engineer of detrans misery, of dysphoria and resentment. To come to dislike the features you’ve acquired during transition is one thing—but to be prevented from changing them? To be looked at like a lunatic? To not know what to do, because information about de/transition and how it works is so understudied and obscured?

If transition was easy, known, free—more people would detransition, certainly. But that wouldn’t mean much. Because they’d be people like anyone else. Their bodies—transsexual bodies—would be just the same, just as worthy. They would be real.

The implications are even greater than that. Freedom of sex, as Andrea Long Chu puts it, means a freedom to change anything about your sex, in any way, for any reason, without restriction. Not the A->B path I was first taught under the illusion of two wholly distinct, non-intersecting sexes—rather, the tweaking of individual aspects. It is to really examine how sex works and take it apart on your person. It is what some trans people already do, with microdosing and what you might call small acts of detransition. If you don’t like the beard after T, why not zap it off? If you want to be on oestrogen but don’t like the breasts—double mastectomy works just the same regardless of initial sex. The idea of customisable, ‘nonbinary’ transition is one that’s gained prominence in recent years, even as attacks on all transition have exponentially increased.

Linear transition was written in an attempt to enforce a kind of gender austerity. Only those that really need it can get it, and so there must be competition, a hierarchy of haves and have-nots. There must be doctors that will prescribe you wrong dosages based on irrelevant research and leave you to wonder why you feel so off. You must not pick and choose the changes you want, because your sex is not for you to decide—it is to be granted to you, justified via a constant defense of self-identification. For the crime of violating sex/gender, your autonomy is branded as harebrained desire until proven otherwise. You’re not allowed to simply want something; you have to need it, hence the attempts to naturalise and essentialise transsexuality—you have to be real, you have to be born with it.

Above all you must be kept in the dark and hurting, so that any time someone suggests anything as ‘frivolous’ as the freedom to have their body as they wish, you snipe back: Shut up, vapid idiot! You’re going to hurt yourself in your stupidity! I’m not like you—I’m the one who’s really hurting!

To look at de/transition from the perspective of liberation is to ask: why? What’s the austerity for? We have the hormones, the surgeries, almost all the treatments we want, and the science isn’t calling it quits tomorrow last I checked. What horrible thing are we preventing by stopping people from doing to their sex whatsoever they wish? Are we running out of gender juice?

But of course, I already told you why. A smarter woman than me has also written extensively why. It is because sex and gender come with a fine print, a set of prescripts, which must be enforced. Irreversible damage to fertile wombs must not be allowed. The pedestal of Man must not be tarnished.

Freedom of sex, then, is the patriarchy’s anathema.

Detransition is part of freedom of sex. To accept acts of detransition as neutral is to allow that changes wrought by transition—just like naturally developed sexual characteristics—can be changed at will. Even disliked. To be free is to embrace the possibility of discontent, too; to allow oneself to do something you may regret later, and to be free to go back. To accept that nothing is final. Finality is one of the ways transition is made more difficult than it needs to be: you must be sure, must be happy with what you get—or else, it is argued, you never had a real need for it anyway.

That is plainly not true. I know that from my own example.

Transition served me well way back when. I do not know of an extant, realistic alternative that could’ve helped me as effectively. I was happy with my transition for years, and suicidally discontent before then. So who cares if transitioning proved in the end an imperfect permanent solution for me? Why must transition be held to perfection and permanence before it is allowed? It worked and it saved my life—who are you to tell me I shouldn’t have done it? And who are you to hold me hostage to it?

What if, even now, I enjoy that I’ve been constructed rather than simply born?

Not So Fast

Now that’s a nice thought, isn’t it? I can feel the gender nirvana coming on already.

Unfortunately, it can’t be that simple. To dream of a world you want, you must first contend with the world you already live in.

There’s a particular aspect that’s been largely absent from my essays so far: forced detransition and conversion therapy. In part, that’s because I argue from the perspective of a willing detransitioner with no shadow of a right-wing past or influence; a viewpoint which is lacking in the public conscience. Plenty of trans writers and thinkers already staunchly argue against forced detransition. They omit the detrans by virtue of either irrelevance or ignorance or both. When voluntary detransition is mentioned, people tend to merely point out there’s not that many of us. In actuality there’s very little statistical research to give definitive numbers, but it’s certainly true we are the minority of transitioners, and the absence of statistical evidence only further confirms: the Right are pulling numbers out of thin air.

Except, saying that is missing the point. The Right never cared about numbers. Or facts. Or logic. Their argument is that willing detransition ought to be the nail in the coffin for transition. If you retort that, um actually, there’s only half as many willing detransitioners, you still concede we exist and are a contradiction to you. That is enough to prove the Right’s point. I, therefore, wish to argue we are not a contradiction to trans rights or existence, but in fact on a continuum with both. That by virtue of our needs and lived realities, we are trans. Differently trans, but trans nonetheless. Some (trans and detrans) may not enjoy that assertion for a number of reasons, but the empirical fact is that we are irrevocably cast out of cis-ness, and we are in need of support structures that are near-identical to those of trans people. If by every function we are trans, then it’s under that name that we should be understood, because it is the only thing that makes sense and yields results.

But.

Detransition is not a neutral act in practice, even if it has the potential to be. Just like transition isn’t. Both are politicised, and the nature of detransition’s politicisation diverges from that of transition quite sharply.

In the current political climate, as trans people are being denied medical care and the anti-trans rhetoric pollutes every information space, this cannot be avoided or denied. Transition is reviled, and detransition is said to be the cure and is wielded as a punishment. Detransition-as-sex-freedom cannot be understood without also grappling with the other two kinds of detransition I distinguish based on motive and emergent needs: forced and coerced.

Forced detransition is the simplest to define. It is detransition that occurs when circumstances necessitate it as the only possible course of action, or it is altogether done unto the transitioner without any pretense of choice. The starkest example is, say, the new law in Florida which forcibly detransitions the incarcerated. But it needn’t be so wholly dystopian to qualify as ‘forced.’ Detransitions due to family or peer pressure, poverty, lack of access, or social isolation are all forced in nature, even if in the most technical sense you made the ‘choice’ to undergo it. If you wish you were still transitioning, it is forced.

Coerced detransition is a grayer area. It is motivated by an individual’s choice—not a lack of one or a pseudo-choice, as above—under circumstances in which transition is possible, but highly discouraged. You will naturally recognise conversion therapy as an extreme example, but it needn’t be so blatant. Often it isn’t.

Say, for instance, your closest circle of friends regards transition as a frivolous neoliberal excess. Or, let’s say, your cis boyfriend is perfectly happy you’re a man now, he swears, but—well, he’s not gay, you know? Just for you. It’s different with you. Except he still treats you the same way he did before your transition—but that’s a good thing, right? Good thing he still wants you at all? He would probably prefer a girlfriend, and he’s never dated men—actually, is this whole thing really that important to you? Aren’t you rushing into things? Do you really know what you want? You don’t mind if he slips up on pronouns when you’re not in the room, do you? 

Or maybe your general practitioner keeps insisting any time anything is wrong with you, that it’s the hormones’ fault. The classic ‘trans broken arm’ syndrome. And when something actually might be wrong with the hormones, the solution is always to just stop HRT altogether. And the surgeries—they’re just so dangerous; look at how horrifying post-op pictures are! It’s just biology, just facts, which don’t care about your feelings (but remember: it’s only a fact if it makes you feel worse.)

In other words, the decision to go through coerced detransition is made in a state of reduced agency, often caused by social pressure and/or misinformation about transition. Nothing is explicitly preventing you from doing as you will to your sex—and so it is precisely your will which must be subverted and undermined.

Notice that I make no claim whether detransition is right or wrong for the person in question. Perhaps they would’ve arrived at this decision another way, perhaps not. The point is, they are led to believe detransition is simply more sensible, healthier, better. It is the superior choice—so of course, they make it. In the end, coerced detransition is not truly dissimilar from the forced kind. What merits it separate consideration is that it’s designed to make you relinquish your own judgement, and your very own sense of self. Under such conditions, even if you would’ve ultimately detransitioned regardless, your relationship to your sex/gender is made maladaptive, and your independence as an individual is maliciously compromised.

The needs of coercively and forcibly detransitioned people are closely aligned. The forcibly detransitioned, naturally, require that the circumstance which necessitated their detransition is removed, and that their retransition is facilitated and supported. The coercively detransitioned may or may not require the same thing—some detrans people do, in fact, discover they genuinely desire detransition in less-than-ideal circumstances—but what they certainly need is a pathway to recovery from conversion. They are to be given their agency back, as well as access to accurate information about transition and transitioners, so that they are free to make the choice to retransition or to keep detransitioning as they see fit.

Both cases run counter to detransition-as-sex-freedom, to voluntary detransition—which is to say, a choice made due to a shift in self-perception, under circumstances in which continued transition is unhindered. The needs of a voluntary detransitioner are also starkly different, and most resemble that of a transitioner. A voluntary detransitioner requires a facilitated pathway to sex modification and gender recognition, from hormones to surgeries to legal procedure. It is the same thing for which trans people fight; it need only be recognised that voluntary detransitioners are part of that fight.

Grouping voluntary and involuntary detransitioners under the same umbrella makes little sense. We may superficially share some experiences, but such an equation falls apart from the perspective of rights and needs; it obfuscates motive, absolves abusers and systemic injustice, and it smooths over radical differences in our stories and perspectives. It draws a false equivalence that either condemns voluntary detransition or celebrates forced and coerced detransition, thus making it impossible to either embrace or reject detransition in good conscience. Thus no progress can be made.

In other words, conflation of voluntary and involuntary detransition only works from the cis perspective—from the perspective of the regime, which observes its deviants and wishes them gone, and rejects understanding them on principle. From either the trans or the detrans perspective, it is nonsense.

Except…

How do you know, though? How do you know? How do you know, when everything from your very cradle is telling you trans people are aberrant for existing, and when trans life is so hard? The coercively detransitioned wholeheartedly claim total autonomy; they are not really lying; from a strictly liberal-minded perspective, they are not wrong. How exactly can continued transition be ‘unhindered’ when society is engineered to always make it difficult?

How do you really know it’s your choice and your choice alone?

We all realise the answer: you don’t. You can’t. Not with complete certainty. There’s no such thing as a pure, unadulterated, individual choice, and there’s very rarely such a thing as an unhindered transition.

We live in a world that reviles transsexuality, that denies and despises the mutability of sex and stamps out any proof that gender is smoke and mirrors. The regime of cisheterosexism seeps through every layer of society and through every aspect of life. Purely voluntary detransition is, in the strictest sense, impossible. Sex/gender is a regime, and no act under it is free; all are forced to exist and be legible within its framework, or else be totally exiled. To exist socially is to exist under sex/gender.

This is not whatsoever unique to detransition. Or detrans people, or trans people. Cis women, for instance, must grapple with what it means to be a woman when Woman is defined as subordinate to Man—even as most do not transition about it. So, too, do men grapple with what their gender means when Manhood is defined and enforced via violence towards women, other men, and the gender-deviant. Even the cissexual must contend with the demands placed on their bodies—almost all transsexual treatments originate in cissexual healthcare. There is no exit from this struggle, because patriarchal sex/gender is constructed to be all-encompassing and mutually exclusive. Woman is everything Man isn’t, and vice versa; never the twain shall meet, and no stone will they leave unturned. No matter what you do, it will be sexed, it will be gendered, and though the conclusion will shift from occasion to occasion, in any particular instance it will allow for no ambiguity. Even when someone yells at you on the street, “Are you a chick or a dude?!”—that is not ‘ambiguity.’ It’s just a longer version of a slur.

Similarly, this is not the first (nor the last) time when sex/gender alteration has been contorted and weaponised against transsexuality—that is, sex-mutability’s most blatant, most acute manifestation. The Cass Review has notably cited the existence of non-transitioning nonbinary individuals as ‘proof’ transition must be curtailed:

“Secondly, medication is binary, but the fastest growing group identifying under the trans umbrella is non-binary, and we know even less about the outcomes for this group. Some of you will also become more fluid in your gender identity as you grow older. We do not know the ‘sweet spot’ when someone becomes settled in their sense of self, nor which people are most likely to benefit from medical transition. When making life-changing decisions, what is the correct balance between keeping options as flexible and open as possible as you move into adulthood, and responding to how you feel right now?”

Doubtless, the Gender Criticals wish the nonbinary non-transitioner to be as non-existent as their more deviant sibling. But while a greater deviant still exists, those that happen to be more acceptable, more assimilate-able, are called upon to do the one thing they’re good for:

Kick the weaker bitch out.

Such too is the final fate of detransitioners under the patriarchal regime. They are to be the knife in the back of their siblings, and when those are gone, they will find their own backs perforated.

So far I have provided eloquent arguments towards clear and singular conclusions—at least, I hope you’ve found me eloquent and clear. Today, on this matter, I offer no such thing. I have nothing to offer but this: so long as transition is reviled, so long as the transsexual are persecuted in any manner at all, there is no freedom of sex and there is no neutrality. Insofar as this pertains to detransition: so long as the transsexual are persecuted, hated, and forced into obscurity, we are likewise bound to their persecution, hatred, and abandonment. So long as that holds, voluntary detransition can never be free.

What Now?

I know. I’m a killjoy. It’s a fate all serious anarchists and college dropouts must contend with: if we’re really sincere about what we think, the mood will be thoroughly murdered.

The fight is clear. The fight is needed. And, the fight is hard. But there is life to be lived in the meanwhile, and it’s worth living even if we don’t see a victory during our time. Total certainty may be impossible and foolish to seek—but you have to make choices anyway. Doing nothing is merely choosing passivity and inertia; you face the consequences either way.

So I ask again: how do you know?

If you’re someone contemplating detransition, here’s the second best thing I can offer: have the courage, the self-insight, and the compassion to face yourself and be honest. Have the intelligence and the disobedience to measure what you’ve been told about transition and transsexuality against the things you have seen and experienced. Have the audacity to be wrong, to make mistakes as many times as you need. Have the pride to ask for better things than you are offered. Have the humility to not think yourself exceptional. Above all, never relinquish the responsibility over your life and your choices to anyone or anything else. No, no one else knows any better. No, there is no easier way.

The first best thing I can offer—to anyone, detrans or not—is to tell you how I knew. In the end I speak from my own experiences, and so it’s only fitting that the message I broadcast is incomplete without a degree of testimony.

Oh, it is to my chagrin, believe me—well, kind of. For all that I love attention and getting told I write oh so powerfully well, a part of me also detests personality pieces. I’m just one woman; I don’t mean much; I shouldn’t mean much. But you must’ve wondered, right? Especially if you don’t recognise yourself in me. I’ve spoken briefly about aspects of my de/transition, and let’s say you took all that for granted, but you must’ve wondered: how did I get here in the first place? How did it feel? How does it feel? Really, truly, how? And why?

I don’t like personality pieces because I think they mine for compassion. That can be a catalyst for a great many things, but just as often I’ve had people treat me with total nicety and then vote for a politician that would kill me, or exile a child that used to be me. Compassion is common, human, and incredibly cheap.

It is also required for kinship. For comparison, for legibility. And one of the issues that plagues detransitioners is illegibility. Silence. A lack of reference by which to see yourself. Community is best known by example.

So an example I shall provide. Next time.

Recommended Reading

On the freedom of sex: Andrea Long Chu, The Right To Change Sex.

On the nature of sex/gender hierarchy within the patriarchy: Talia Bhatt, Understanding Transmisogyny, Part 1.

On the mechanisms of gender-conservatism among women: Andrea Dworkin, Right-Wing Women.

[girltriestowritestuff]

Royal Arrangements, Chapter 1

Telemachus x Reader

“She’s not here for romance. He’s not ready for a crown. But fate has other plans.” When your mother announces your engagement to Telemachus—yes, that Telemachus, son of Odysseus—you expect politics, not apologies. But the prince turns out to be more awkward than arrogant, more kind than kingly. And you? Well, you're not exactly the swooning type.

an-thank you to @thatoneguythatwatchesgayporn for this idea! Hope you like it.

You could immediately tell something was going on when your mother asked to speak with you. Privately.

You’d had “talks” before, usually about responsibilities or etiquette or who you were accidentally offending at court this time. But this one felt different—heavier somehow. You felt it in her voice, in the way she wouldn’t quite meet your eyes when she asked.

Still, you followed her down the corridor. What else could you do?

You walked into her room, where she was already seated neatly on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap like she had to physically restrain herself from fussing with her skirts. She looked like she was rehearsing something. You didn’t sit down yet.

"There's been some news from Ithaca," she said, her voice gentle, almost too gentle.

That was the first red flag.

You narrowed your eyes a little. “Should I be alarmed or surprised?”

“That depends,” she said, pausing like she wasn’t sure how much to say. “How do you feel about marriage?”

You blinked. “That’s… a leap.”

But she didn’t answer.

You crossed your arms, a defense more than a gesture. “Is it being forced on me because someone actually wants me, or is this a politics thing?”

She gave you a familiar look—part fond, part tired, part amused despite herself. “Don’t be clever.”

“Too late.”

She sighed, brushing invisible dust off her skirt. “My love, I know you don’t want to marry—”

“To whom,” you interrupted, “and it’s fine, Mom.”

It wasn’t fine. You were not “fine.” But you’d learned long ago that saying so didn’t change much. And she looked like she didn’t want to do this either.

Your mother hesitated, the way she did when she was about to say something that might shatter whatever peace you had left. She looked at you with something like guilt in her eyes.

“To Telemachus,” she said at last. “Son of Odysseus.”

You blinked. “As in Ithaca Telemachus?”

She nodded.

You let out a breath through your nose and ran a hand down your face. “Of all the names you could’ve said, that one’s… bold.”

“He needs legitimacy,” she explained softly. “The suitors are circling like vultures. Penelope can’t hold them off much longer. He needs to be king.”

“And I’m supposed to make him one?” you asked, dryly.

“You would make a fine queen,” she replied.

You stayed quiet, chewing on that. Being queen wasn’t the problem. Being a pawn was.

Still, you sat down beside her, letting your weight sink into the mattress. You were nearly twenty, but in that moment, you felt closer to ten—tired, uncertain, needing a mother more than anything else.

“I’m not saying he’s a bad choice,” you said carefully. “I’m saying… I never had a choice.”

Your mother wrapped her arms around you. It wasn’t one of those tight, desperate hugs, but a steady, warm one. Like she was trying to hold everything together just by holding you.

“I know this isn’t the life you imagined,” she said into your hair.

You gave her a small, sad smile. “I stopped imagining a long time ago.”

She squeezed you gently. “I’ve spoken with Penelope,” she said. “She says he’s… kind. Thoughtful. Not rude like you might think.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So, what, he probably reads poetry and apologizes too much?”

Your mother chuckled—real and soft, like it snuck out before she could stop it. “Would that be so bad?”

“No,” you admitted. “But I’ve played these games before. I know how kind eyes can lie.”

She nodded, her expression serious now. “He’s not a game.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I believe in him. And more importantly… Penelope believes in him. That means something.”

You leaned into her shoulder. It was oddly comforting to know that Penelope, a woman known for her patience and wisdom, was vouching for this boy.

Boy. That’s what he was to you. Just a name, a story, a set of expectations dressed in royal robes.

You’d grown up on stories about Odysseus—clever Odysseus, cunning Odysseus, the man who tricked gods and toppled cities. What kind of son would that man raise?

What kind of boy accepts a crown with strings attached?

What kind of prince agrees to marry a stranger?

And what kind of man would he turn out to be?

You didn’t say yes. Not yet. But you didn’t say no either. That was something.

“I don’t want to be the answer to someone else’s problems,” you said, quietly.

“You’re not,” your mother said. “But you might be part of a solution.”

“That's a lot of weight to put on someone who didn’t get to choose.”

“I know,” she said again. “But sometimes, the only power we have is how we carry what’s given to us.”

You sighed. She wasn’t wrong. But it didn’t make it easier.

Still, part of you—the part that had grown cautious but not yet completely bitter—was curious.

Curious about a boy raised in a broken kingdom. A boy trying to become a king in the shadow of legends. A boy who might be just as trapped as you.

Maybe he was more than a name.

Maybe you were more than a tool.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of your story, but a strange, unexpected beginning.

[azullumi]

LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF THE STARS AND YOU, PT. 1

premise — because that’s just how they are; alternatively, “the type to” trend with hsr characters. characters — ruan mei, veritas ratio, aventurine, and robin content tags — gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, slight angst, not proofread, word vomit in some parts, 1.6k words ; headcanons

note from me — seasickness took me out and the fact that i have a 9 hr road trip tomorrow is already making me dizzy. i hope i’m asleep for the 3/4 of it,, also this has a pt. 2 which i’ll upload later on !! anyways i wrote this in between my vacation and trip and in between the long-ass separate fics with sunday and aven so sorry if it seems rusty or out of my style 🙏

RUAN MEI, (lies in between the line of a good lover and a bad lover) the type to be unable to express her affections for you through words and settles with small and simple gestures that she has observed and seen from everyone around her; having never understood “love” and never knowing how to correspond with such, she’s left silent and confused like a lost child in the wake of it. She’ll find herself staring you quietly, memorizing the lines of your face and how it creases and contorts into different expressions, studying each crevices and edges of the parts that makes up your being to bury you in her memory, and there’s a smile that tugs on her lips every time her gaze falls on you. Oh, she wishes she understood what it all meant (she simply and devastatingly adores you).

RUAN MEI, the type to subconsciously write your name on paper whenever she’s distracted. it’s a small habit she does, one that makes her smile whenever she notices the letters spelling out your name. She has ruined, tainted several of her papers, even important ones, with just a single word, a set of letters that composes of what makes warmth seep into her chest when her mind drifts into the thought of someone—you.

RUAN MEI, the type not understand the underlying reason behind her actions—why she spends the time and makes the effort in between her busy schedule and pile of papers to make sweets for you, why she lets you do her hair despite how messy it often turns out when you braid it and how she can never find the strength in herself to “fix” or disturb the state of your work, why she always seek for the warmth of your hands whenever she’s feeling uneasy or stressed, why she always lean to your shoulder or to your touch when you caress her cheek, and everything. It’s a puzzle board of missing and scattered pieces, unable to comprehend the full image of the mystery—and yet, she still delves into the enigma of her feelings that is intertwined with your existence. Maybe one day she’ll come to know it all and maybe it will be the time when she can finally be honest to herself.

VERITAS RATIO, the type to want to know every single thing you and remember all of it. Perhaps it’s the bare minimum, perhaps it’s something that he just does. “They don’t like that,” He would say when an arrogant fool would even try to give you (or do) something, and he’s there, witnessing it all, knowing the things that you prefer and like. He knows what flowers that you like, knows your favorite color, knows the way you prefer to sleep, knows the small habits that you do when you’re nervous or scared or happy, knows every little detail that paints the whole of your existence. Isn’t it simply just lovely when someone desires to know you from the inside and out? Even if it’s just a little bit, he feels more closer to you in this way.

VERITAS RATIO, the type to be sweet and reassuring towards you (through words and actions), even though he may come off as mean, blunt, or rude towards others. Sure, he may call you an idiot sometimes but he’ll never go past that nor reach the line of degrading and distasteful remarks because he never wishes to hurt your feelings; if ever he did, he’ll apologize and tell you it’s not his intention. “Fool,” But the affection that edges into the tone of his voice cuts the thread of disdain that sews into the word. Oftentimes when texting and it’s easy to misunderstand the tone of one’s message, especially his tone, he’ll reassure you that he didn’t send it in a way that he’s angry or scornful: “The ‘Ok’ that I sent is not a mad ‘Ok’, I am in a rush and could only type that out. I’m not angry.”

VERITAS RATIO, the type to entertain your questions no matter how stupid it can be; he’d give you the answers every single time. He doesn’t mind being treated like a walking encyclopedia or dictionary if it’s you—he’d hate it if you were going to ask someone else instead of him (although he probably never told you that discomfort). I mean, you have a well-known member of the Intelligentsia Guild, someone who parallels a genius, just right at the tip of your fingertips, why bother asking someone else?

AVENTURINE, the type to like listening to the sound of your breathing, the sound of your heartbeat (to listen to the sound of you blinking, to listen to your hands soothe). It’s comforting, in an odd way, and he never tells you but it helps him fall asleep—watching the rising and falling of your chest, seeing your calm face wrinkle ever so often while you sleep. He keeps the sound of your heartbeat close to the pocket on his chest, weaving the rhythm of it to his pulse, and before he knew it, the dawn will come in quiet solitude.

AVENTURINE, the type to be always on fight-or-flight mode. Perhaps it’s the way that he grew up, perhaps it was the harsh and cruel environment that he’s in, but he’s always on guard, seemingly on defensive mode as if danger lurks at every dark corner. His shoulders are always tense, his hand either hidden or playing with the ring on his finger, it’s like he never can’t seem to relax himself even when he’s in the comfort of your arms. It follows him everywhere, trailing behind his feet, and forces him awake at night—he doesn’t even know where the fear, the anxiety, is coming from, he just knows it’s there. One wrong step and his thoughts will come crashing down like cold downpour, one wrong move and you’ll come to leave him. Sometimes a little reassurance comes a long way and it’s all he needs when his mind is being tormented. (He will learn to live with it, even if he can never seem to understand or know it. He will come to know peace as if it’s all he had in his hands when the sun first held him).

AVENTURINE, the type to immediately smile after a kiss. It’s utterly affectionate; parting, staring deeply into one’s eyes with his cheeks dusted with a certain color and he’s grinning—warmth beams from his expression and there’s a certain feeling that intertwines into his gaze and he knows it’s love because it’s all he feels whenever he looks at you. He’s the type to laugh into a kiss, feeling ticklish all over his bones as if your hands are ghosting the sensitive parts of his skin, and you’ll ask him, “What?” but he’ll only answer with, “Nothing.” He’s not drunk, the ache of wanting simply swells up in his chest and all he can think of is how much he adores you.

ROBIN, the type to try and make time for you. Her schedule is always packed, filled with all kinds of events and tasks that she needs to do. It’s overwhelming, everything feels overwhelming for her and it’s hard to know which one she should prioritize first not when she has a lot of things on her hands. Sometimes she feels lost, feels the weight too heavy on her shoulders, feels like her feet are tied to the ragged earth, feels the cage closing on her. She tries so hard to be the perfect lover for you, to become someone that will reach beyond your expectations; she cradles that perfect image, broken in all of its edges, that were constructed for herself close to her chest even if it feels like a knife to her heart. But really, all you need is for her to be herself (not the star that everyone admires and wishes to reach) and sometimes, that’s all she needs to hear from you—that she doesn’t have to hold on to the shattered chains when the coldness of the metal reminds her of what she has to carry.

ROBIN, the type to go on all kinds of dates with you, silly or not, and even matches clothes with you. She’s usually the one to make the invite to match, thinking that it’s cute and the both of you rarely ever has time like this so why not make the most out of it; who are you to even say no when she’s beaming at you so warmly? She has all of her options laid on the bed, displayed on clothing hangers, asking you what you’re going to wear or what color do you want. It’s lovely, sweet, seeing her like this and you could only pray to whoever aeon is listening that nobody comes to ruin the day the both of you rarely have for each other.

ROBIN, the type to bring you all kinds of souvenirs and gifts from her (universal) tours, sometimes having bought too much that you don’t know what to with some of them; the type to send you letters every time she’s away so that you won’t worry for he, especially knowing what happened last time, the type to always try to keep in touch and keep you close no matter the stars between you and her. She’ll ask for one thing that you own that she can carry with her person, making a promise that she’ll come back and return it—the item a testament to her vow—, but for the meantime, she’ll keep it so she has a little piece of you everywhere she goes and she can say that you’re always there by her side.

DRUM ROLLS PLS *dundundundundun* special mention to the one and only beloved feli @dr-felitas !! i think i owe you a lot of end notes so here i am :3 also i’m sorry if i publish this and i still haven’t responded to your messages (if you have sent me cause im on dnd to avoid my dumbass from checking and looking at the phone during car rides knowing that i get motion sick) ANYWAYS i would like to begin this with i love you mwamwa, you’re one of the sweetest and most wonderful souls i have ever met and anyone who tells u otherwise will get a boulder thrown to their head 🫵 im glad to have met you, that my anti-social ass went ahead and messaged you despite the fact that we only talked once or twice AND IT WAS OVER ASKS OR COMMENTS BUT YEAH !! idk what or where i’ll be if i hadn’t done that; maybe not replying to my friends idk (again im sorry if i take business days to answer i sometimes get busy or i sometimes dont have the energy :3 i hope u still love me hahahaha… *slides down the wall*) again, i really appreciate and adore you for everything. you are a brave and kind person and i only hope for the good things for you. don’t be too mean or harsh to yourself 🫂 know that i’m always here to listen to you no matter what you’re saying. you’re never a burden to me and i hope you’ll come to see just how you shine and radiate with so much warmth and kindness, it’s like love itself is found in you. ily lottss mwaa <33

sunday, himeko, welt, gallagher, and jing yuan next !!

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[lovetaroandtaemin]

Team Building

Kwon Soonyoung x Reader

Word Count: 7,352

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff, some crack.

Rating: Explicit, MINORS DNI!

Summary: When you and your annoying coworker Soonyoung are forced to share a hotel room during a business trip, tensions are high.

Content Warnings: Mentioned alcohol but everybody is sober during the smut, unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, creampie, soft dom!Hoshi, fingering in the break room, situationship, angst with a happy ending, this man is an idiot I'm sorry. If you think I missed a warning, please let me know!

A/N: This fic is part of the Secret Cupid event hosted by the incredible @ddeonghwa-s! This particular fic was written for Bambi, aka @soongyeopsal. I hope you like it!

If y'all want to read the other fics that were written for this event, the masterlist can be found here!

Happy reading, and happy Valentine's Day!

Taglist: @xomakara, @notyourjaem, @heechwe, @shadowkoo

Fic is under the cut.

Kwon Soonyoung was the bane of your existence. He had his charming moments, sure, and he always performed well at work, but he was also arrogant, loud, and just plain rude, especially to you. Every conversation that the two of you had, even if you were only talking to him because you needed to get work done, left you even more irritated with him than you were before. His answers were brief, his tone was sarcastic, and his lack of interest was evident in every word. However, you figured that you could deal with an annoying coworker. After all, you loved your job, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to find something in your field that paid as well as your position at Carat Interactive.

As annoying as Soonyoung was, however, you also had to admit that he was incredibly attractive, despite his tendency to act like a douchebag whenever you had the displeasure of speaking to him. His eyes were a warm shade of brown that made you melt every time you looked into them, his smile gave you butterflies every time you saw it, and his lips looked so kissable. You almost wanted to put aside your hatred to find out just how good of a kisser he was. Almost.

If Soonyoung was being completely honest with himself, he wasn’t particularly fond of you either. He thought that you were far too pretentious and far too serious for your own good. Despite all of that, though, he still couldn’t help but think that you were absolutely beautiful. Every time he saw you in the office, he couldn’t help but stare, and he hated himself for it. That didn’t stop him from doing it, though.

One day, when your annoyance with Soonyoung was at an all-time high, Seungcheol, your boss, called a team meeting. It took longer than you wanted to admit for you to find the room, but eventually, you did. Then, when you walked through the door, the only empty seat in the boardroom was right next to Soonyoung, because of course it was. You really didn’t want to sit next to him, but your desire to avoid disrupting the meeting even more than you already had won out in the end. So, you quietly took a seat and prayed that Soonyoung would not speak to you. Of course, because the gods hated you, the moment he saw you, he asked, “You couldn’t find anywhere else to sit?”

“Look around. Do you see any other open spots?”

Seungcheol cleared his throat and asked, “(Y/N). Soonyoung. Is there a problem?”

“No, there isn’t,” you answered, “Apologies for the disruption.”

“Thank you. Now, onto the reason that I called this meeting,” Seungcheol began. “I’ve noticed several issues when it comes to cooperation and respect on this team. So, I have to ask. How are we going to get anything done if no one can work together?”

“Maybe if you didn’t hire pretentious idiots that don’t know what they’re doing, things would be easier,” Soonyoung muttered.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Soonyoung. With that attitude, we’re never going to get anything done. That’s why, as manager, I’ve decided to organize a team retreat. Hopefully, some team building exercises in a fun new location will help you all see the importance of working together.”

You wanted to complain, citing upcoming deadlines and your concerns about the nature of the “team building exercises” that Seungcheol mentioned, but you knew better than to argue with your boss, especially when he was angry.

“Does anyone have any questions?”

Seokmin was the first to speak up, asking, “Will we be paid for attending this retreat?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol answered.

“How long will the retreat last?” someone else asked.

“We’ll be gone for a week. Please make any arrangements that need to be made for pet care or childcare by Saturday, since we’re leaving next Sunday,” your boss replied. “Are there any other questions?” The room fell silent, so Seungcheol added, “Very well. If something comes up, and you do need to speak to me about the retreat, just come and find me in my office. This meeting is adjourned; thank you for your time.”

With the surprise meeting officially over, everyone left the room in hopes of finishing their assigned tasks before clocking out for the day. As you sat down at your desk, however, you heard an irritatingly familiar voice ask, “So, are you looking forward to the retreat?”

“Not even a little,” you replied, not even looking up from your work. “Are you?”

“Oh, totally,” Soonyoung said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “What could be better than being stuck with ‘Cheol and his ‘team building exercises’ for an entire week? It’s gonna be the highlight of my year.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at Soonyoung’s comment before you said, “Oh, you’re so right. I can’t believe I didn’t even consider the excitement of spending a week locked in a room with our entire team doing trust falls and talking about our feelings!”

After a brief silence, Soonyoung said, “Damn, (Y/N), I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean, you never make jokes at work. I kind of thought you didn’t know how to make jokes at all.”

“Well, I do. I also know how to be serious when it’s necessary, like when I’m at work.”

“You really need to loosen up sometimes,” Soonyoung commented, his growing frustration evident in his voice.

“I do loosen up, just not here.”

Soonyoung huffed and walked away, seemingly bored of talking to you. You wanted to tell yourself that you didn’t care about his indifference, but you found that a small part of you was disappointed that he’d walked away. Sure, he drove you insane, but you also missed his little comments when he wasn’t around. However, you knew that if you told him that, you’d never hear the end of it. So, you kept your confusing feelings to yourself.

The rest of the week passed with only a few minor arguments with Soonyoung, and before you knew it, you were driving to the hotel where you were supposed to be staying for the retreat. If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t dreading the retreat as much as you did when you first found out about it. Sure, you weren’t thrilled to be stuck in a hotel with your coworkers for an extended period of time in an unfamiliar area, but you still wanted to be optimistic. After all, you were getting paid to be there, which meant that you basically had a week off from your actual job while still bringing in money. Plus, a small part of you hoped to meet an attractive guy to hook up with in your free time.

Your optimism was snuffed out like a flame when you got to the hotel. Due to a scheduling error, despite both of your requests to the contrary, you would be sharing a room with Soonyoung. You tried to talk to Seungcheol about the error, but he told you that there was nothing that he could do. So, while you weren’t happy about it, you decided that you would try to make the best of a bad situation.

When you got to your room, you found Soonyoung sitting on one of the beds and scrolling on his phone. Without even looking up at you, he said, “Before you say anything, just know that I’m not happy about this either.”

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything,” you retorted. “I just wanted to sit in the room. Is that ok with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one that gets mad at me every time we talk.”

“No, I don’t. I just get tired of your pretentious fucking attitude.”

“I’m not pretentious; I just don’t screw around at work. You might wanna take some notes.”

“Why, so I can be the most boring person in the office? I’ll pass.”

“Fuck this, I’m going out.”

“Bye!”

After you left the room, you wandered around for what felt like hours before you found your friends Wonwoo and Mingyu at the hotel’s bar. When they saw you, they cheered and invited you over with smiles on their faces and drinks in their hands. Once Wonwoo noticed the look of irritation on your face, however, his smile was replaced with a look of concern as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sharing a room with Soonyoung,” you spat.

“Are you serious?” Mingyu asked. “I thought you specifically asked to share with anyone but him.”

“I did. Seungcheol said there was an error when the trip was booked, and there’s nothing he can do. Which means I have to deal with him for a week, with no breaks.”

“I mean, this is a break, isn’t it?” Wonwoo asked.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” you replied.

As if on cue, you heard a voice behind you say, “Wonwoo! Mingyu! How are you guys?”

“Hi, Soonyoung!” Mingyu said, a mischievous smile forming on his face. “Wonwoo and I were just leaving to get some rest. (Y/N) just got here, though. You two should hang out!”

You gave Mingyu a death glare, and Soonyoung said, “That’s ok. I don’t think she wants to hang out with me.” If you didn’t know any better, you would have said that he sounded sad as he said it. That wouldn’t make any sense, though. Soonyoung hated you. Why would he be upset that you didn’t want to hang out with him?

You brushed off the thought and opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get the words out, Mingyu smiled again and said, “That’s not true! She’d love to spend some time with you. Isn’t that right, (Y/N)?”

In that moment, you felt like you couldn’t say no. So, you gritted your teeth and said, “That’s right. I don’t mind,” turning around to see Soonyoung’s face change from one of disappointment to one of what you could really only describe as excitement.

“Really? It’s ok if-”

“Really, Soonyoung,” you said, softening when you saw the change in his demeanor. “Why don’t you find us a spot to sit, and I’ll order some drinks.” He nodded and left to find a table, and you turned back to your friend and asked, “What the fuck was that?”

“Trust me, (Y/N),” Mingyu said. “I’ve known Soonyoung since high school. He’s an idiot, but he’s not an asshole. He just acts all weird with you because he likes you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Watch how he acts after we leave. Then, when the two of you inevitably get drunk and hook up tonight, you can fall asleep afterward with the satisfaction that I was right.”

You rolled your eyes and said, “Sure, whatever. Bye.”

Mingyu and Wonwoo left, and you decided to order some sodas for you and Soonyoung. After all, you didn’t know what kind of alcohol he liked, and you really didn’t want to get drunk around him.

When you got back to the table with two glasses of cola in hand, Soonyoung smiled and said, “Thanks!”

“No problem. I didn’t know what kind of drink you’d want, so I just got sodas.”

“That’s ok. I don’t drink much, so I don’t really know either,” he responded with a laugh.

“Fair enough.”

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before Soonyoung asked, “So, how was the drive here?”

“It could have been better. There was so much more traffic than I’m used to,” you responded with a soft laugh.

“Oh my god, I know! I guess Seungcheol picked a busy weekend or something. Listen, I love the guy, but his timing sucks when it comes to planning company events.”

You laughed a bit at Soonyoung’s comment, and some of the awkwardness in the air seemed to dissipate. You also noticed that there was a faint blush on his cheeks, but you decided not to comment on it. After all, you didn’t want the awkwardness to come back.

When Soonyoung heard your laugh, he was certain that it was the most beautiful sound that he’d ever heard. Sure, he still thought that you were far too serious at work, but actually interacting with you outside of the office made him start to reconsider the way he felt about you. He realized that he liked you a lot, and for a brief moment, he thought about asking you to continue the party in your room. He decided against it, however, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or come on too strongly.

As the night went on, you found yourself really enjoying Soonyoung’s company. He was one of the funniest people you’d talked to in a long time, he actually paid attention when you spoke, and he didn’t make a single rude comment the entire time you sat with him, still drinking sodas because neither of you wanted alcohol. You started to wonder what was different, since you’d been alone with him before, but you decided not to think about it too much. After all, there were far more interesting things to think about.

Whether it was the desperation that came from the dry spell you’d found yourself in for the past several months, the way Soonyoung looked at you as you told some story about a girls’ night gone wrong, or some strange combination of the two, you had no idea. All you knew was that you wanted Soonyoung, and you wanted him immediately.

After you finished your story, you looked at Soonyoung and asked, “Do you wanna go back to the room?”

With a smirk on his face that you knew would be the death of you, he asked, “Why? I thought we were having fun here.”

“Oh, I am,” you began, your nerves slowly starting to get the better of you. “I just thought we could have more fun back in the room.”

“What kind of fun?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, I have a few ideas.”

“I can’t wait to hear them.”

“When we get back to the room, I’d be happy to show you,” he said with a wink.

Before you knew it, you were paying for the drinks and walking back to your room with Soonyoung. When you got there, you had to wait for him to unlock the door, and it was torture. When the door finally opened, however, the frustration you were feeling shifted into something that you couldn’t quite name.

Soonyoung pinned you to the door the moment it was shut again, his lips meeting yours with a passion that could only be described as animalistic. As his lips moved against yours, a soft moan left your mouth, and he took that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Eventually, he pulled away to let you breathe, and the only thing you could think to say was, “Wow.”

“Already so flustered you can’t even speak? You’re so cute,” Soonyoung commented with a soft laugh.

A soft whine slipped out in response, and you said, “Please do something.”

“What do you want me to do, baby?”

“Want you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Just, please,” you begged, desperate for anything beyond what you’d already been given.

Soonyoung pretended to think for a minute before he smiled at you and said, “Lie down on the bed for me, baby.”

You immediately did as you were told, and Soonyoung settled himself between your legs before pulling your skirt up and your panties down. Then, he started placing gentle kisses on your inner thigh, only biting occasionally. Every touch left you wanting more, and you could only take so much teasing. When it all got to be too much, you whined and said, “Please, just fuck me already!”

Soonyoung laughed against you and said, “Alright, princess.”

With no additional warning or teasing, Soonyoung slowly licked a stripe up your pussy. A loud moan left your mouth at the sudden stimulation, and it was all you could do to stay still as he continued to eat you out there was nothing in the world that he wanted to do more.

Each time he moaned against you, shockwaves of pleasure went through your body, and you knew that you probably wouldn’t last long. You wanted to be embarrassed, since your annoying coworker was the reason you were so turned on, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care. After all, Soonyoung was already better at pleasing you than any other man you’d been with before him.

“Fuck, feels so good,” you moaned, tangling your hands in his hair. Soonyoung didn’t respond verbally, but the way he started to move his tongue faster after you spoke told you that he heard you loud and clear.

It was only a matter of time before you started to feel your release building inside you. With a loud whine, you said, “’m close.” Soonyoung groaned against you one more time, and that was all it took for your orgasm to wash over you with a loud moan of his name. He continued his movements as you reached your high, stopping just before the pleasure would have turned into pain.

Once you caught your breath, you sat up and pulled Soonyoung into a kiss, and the fire of lust that you thought had been put out was lit once again. Within minutes, both of you had thrown your clothes on the floor, and Soonyoung was on top of you. After he lined himself up with your entrance, you kissed him again, and he took the opportunity to carefully push into you.

A loud moan left your mouth as Soonyoung entered you, and you held onto him for dear life while you adjusted to his size. He was much bigger than the men you’d previously been with, so it took longer for you to adjust than you would have expected. Not that you were complaining, of course.

Once you were ready, you gave Soonyoung the green light, and he slowly started moving. Every drag of his cock inside you had you seeing stars, and you swore he was better in bed than anyone else that you’d been with before him. As he increased the speed of his thrusts, however, you found that you weren’t thinking about anyone else anymore.

Soonyoung loved watching you fall apart underneath him, if he was being completely honest. Sure, he didn’t exactly plan to sleep with you when he first ran into you at the bar, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. You felt too good around him for him to complain, and he loved every moan and whine that left your lips as he pounded into you.

Just like when he’d gotten you off with his tongue, you knew pretty early on that you probably wouldn’t last long with Soonyoung’s cock inside of you. Still, you really didn’t care. All you cared about was the pleasure coursing through your veins with every movement.

“Fuck. You feel so good, baby. Like this pussy was made for me,” Soonyoung said in between groans. You were too fucked out to respond verbally, but the fact that you started moaning louder after he spoke told him that you heard him loud and clear.

“I’m close, baby. Where do you want it?”

“Inside, please, please, please,” you begged, desperate for Soonyoung to fill you.

Within seconds, Soonyoung reached his high, filling you with cum. Your release came not long after that, and you pulled him in for another kiss as you came undone around his cock. Eventually, you had to pull away for air, but the way he looked into your eyes as you came down from your high left butterflies in your stomach and a smile on your face.

After you both caught your breath, Soonyoung said, “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby,” and climbed off of you. Once you felt like you could move, you took his outstretched hand and stood up, pulling him into a hug. When he let go, you both moved to clean up and get dressed.

Once you were both dressed and comfortable again, you pulled Soonyoung into a hug and asked, “Can we share a bed tonight?”

“Of course, baby. Which one?”

“I don’t think it matters,” you answered with a laugh.

Soonyoung smiled and led you to the bed furthest from the door, and you immediately snuggled into his side. The bed was small, so you had to lie down pretty much on top of him to avoid falling off, but neither of you really minded.

While Soonyoung held you close, the two of you talked about your interests and lives outside of work, with each of you hoping to get to know the other better. The conversation didn’t last very long though, since both of you fell asleep in a matter of minutes, surprised by the events of the day but happy to end it in each other’s arms.

The next morning, you woke up on the floor in between the room’s two beds. At some point during the night, you rolled over too far and fell out of Soonyoung’s bed, much to your frustration and his amusement when he woke up and realized what had happened. Once he stopped laughing, however, he helped you up and asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. I guess I fell out of bed while I was sleeping.”

“I noticed. You looked kind of cute on the floor,” he replied, starting to laugh again.

You pouted at his comment and said, “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m just laughing because of how adorable you are, sweetheart.”

You started to smile when he called you cute again and pulled him into a hug. With a groan of frustration, you said, “I really don’t want to participate in whatever Seungcheol has planned for today.”

“I know. I’m pretty sure I heard him mention trust falls when we were all in the lobby last night.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you said, laughing at the cliché team building your boss apparently had planned.

“I wish I was. But I swear, I specifically heard him say the words ‘trust falls’ to Jeonghan.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dreading the event even more.

“Yeah, I’m not excited about it either. Look on the bright side, though. I’ll be right there with you the whole time, no matter how awkward and boring it gets.”

You smiled when you heard Soonyoung say that he’d be there with you, and without really thinking about it, you kissed him again. He deepened the kiss pretty much immediately, with his hands finding their way to your hair and pulling slightly. A soft moan left your lips, and he pulled away with a grin on his face before he said, “Later, baby.”

“That’s not fair! You started it!”

“Yes I did.”

You laughed at his boldness, and the two of you got ready together to face the day ahead. While you went about your morning routine, you occasionally noticed Soonyoung staring at you with a dopey grin on his face and something that you couldn’t quite identify in his eyes. The third time you caught him staring at you, you finally decided to just ask, “What are you looking at?”

“You. Why do you ask? Is it a problem?”

“No. I just wanna know what’s so interesting that I’ve caught you looking at me three different times now.”

“You are. Plus, you look really fucking sexy,” he replied with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but your soft laugh at his answer betrayed your attempt at looking annoyed.

After your little exchange, you went back to getting ready, and when it was time to leave, you and Soonyoung left together to go to the convention center near your hotel. When you got there, several of your coworkers stared at the two of you, clearly perplexed as to how you two were interacting without an argument.

When you ran into Mingyu, he gave you a knowing smile and asked, “So, how was your night?”

“It was pretty good,” you admitted, looking at Soonyoung as you spoke. “Turns out we have more in common than we thought.”

“See?” Mingyu asked. “I told you to trust me.”

Before Soonyoung could ask what Mingyu meant, Wonwoo arrived and said, “So, (Y/N), I see you had an interesting night.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment and said, “Shut up.”

“Shit, we have to go!” Mingyu groaned. “Do you remember where Seungcheol we were doing the things?”

“No, I don’t,” you answered.

“I do,” Soonyoung said. “Follow me.”

You followed Soonyoung down one of the convention center’s many hallways until you stood in front of a door that was labeled, “Carat Interactive Team Building.” When you entered the room, you noticed a very large stage, complete with a microphone and a banner above it that said, “Trust Falls.” That was when you realized that Soonyoung really wasn’t kidding about what he’d overheard the night before, and you stifled a laugh. You didn’t find the situation funny anymore, however, when your boss took his place in front of the microphone with a look of what could only be described as rage on his face. With a deep sigh, he began, “Welcome to day one of the Carat Interactive team building retreat. We’re here today so that you all can build stronger bonds with your teammates and hopefully learn something new about what it really means to work together and trust each other.”

Soonyoung snickered at Seungcheol’s introduction and said, “We wouldn’t need to learn how to work together if you were better at coordinating.”

“What was that, Soonyoung?” Seungcheol asked, clearly tired of your coworker’s bullshit.

“I said that we wouldn’t need to learn how to work together if you were better at coordinating,” Soonyoung repeated loudly, unfazed by Seungcheol’s anger.

Seungcheol sighed again before he smiled and said, “You know what, thank you, Soonyoung. Thank you so much for volunteering to start our first activity of the day.”

“Hey, I didn’t-” Soonyoung began.

“I don’t care!” Seungcheol exclaimed, his previous rage replaced with unsettling excitement. “Our first team building exercise is trust falls. Each of you will take turns coming up onto this stage and sharing something about yourself that you’ve never told the rest of the team. After you share, you will turn so that your back is facing your teammates and fall backward, trusting your teammates to catch you. Is that clear?” After a series of vague expressions of affirmation and nods from your coworkers, your boss added, “Come on up, Soonyoung! Thank you so much for agreeing to go first.”

Hesitantly, Soonyoung joined Seungcheol on stage and asked, “Why are we doing this?”

“I just told you why. Now, share something that your teammates don’t know about you!” Seungcheol replied, the unsettling excitement in his voice making him sound like a game show host that had been possessed by a demon.

Seungcheol stepped out of the way, and with a sigh, Soonyoung stepped closer to the microphone as you and the rest of your coworkers stepped closer to the stage to catch him. After another deep breath, he said, “I really don’t want to be here right now,” his solemn demeanor making it seem like he was sharing his darkest secret with the group instead of just being a smartass.

You laughed at his “admission,” which earned you a glare from Seungcheol. He didn’t say anything, though, which was a huge relief.

As everyone else on your team took turns sharing secrets and falling, you realized that Seungcheol had intentionally picked you last. You should have been upset, but all you could think about was how grateful you were that you got to put off your part of the exercise for as long as possible.

When Seungcheol called your name, you made your way onto the stage, and he said, “What would you like to share with your teammates today?”

With a deep breath to calm your nerves, you said, “I worry too much about what other people think, and sometimes I think that no one actually likes me.”

You stepped forward, turned your back to your coworkers, and fell, hoping that someone would actually catch you. After you fell, you felt several sets of arms holding you above the ground. When your feet were back on the floor, you turned and realized that Soonyoung was one of the people that caught you. With the same smirk on his face that he had at the bar, he said, “I mean, I had a feeling that you would fall for me after last night, but this seems a bit excessive.”

You laughed at his comment and said, “Thank you.”

With all of the trust falls complete, Seungcheol dismissed you all from the auditorium by saying, “That’s all we had planned for today. Enjoy the rest of your day, everyone, but don’t do anything stupid. I’m looking at you, Soonyoung.”

The man in question laughed and reached his hand out to grab yours. You smiled at the small gesture, and he said, “So, what do you wanna do now?”

“I think I’d like to just go back to the room, if that’s ok.”

“Of course, baby.”

You and Soonyoung made your way back to the hotel room, and when you got there, you collapsed on your bed and sighed. Soonyoung laughed a bit at your actions, and you asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. You’re just so cute.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hmmm, no thanks,” he responded with a laugh. You laughed along with him, and he took a seat on his bed. Once the laughter turned to silence, however, his demeanor grew serious, and he asked, “You know that I really do like you, right?”

“What?”

“I’m talking about what you said during the trust falls. You know that I really do like you, right?”

“Oh. Well, I guess I do now.”

“I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you said with a soft smile.

There was another silence before Soonyoung asked, “So, what do you wanna do?”

“Can we just talk?”

“Yeah, of course. Getting to know you better has been really nice.”

With that, the two of you talked about anything and everything that came to mind until it got too late for either of you to keep your eyes open. That was when you both went to sleep, each of you in your separate beds this time. You briefly considered asking if you could share a bed with Soonyoung again, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or wake up on the floor again, so you decided against it.

The rest of the week went by with no other major events, and you couldn’t wait to finally go home after being stuck in an unfamiliar city with your coworkers for a week. The drive home was far more peaceful than you expected, with significantly less traffic than when you’d driven to the hotel at the start of the week. When you finally got home, the first thing you did was text Soonyoung.

Y/N: Hi. Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun with you this week.

Soonyoung: I had fun too. Any time you wanna hang out, just let me know.

Y/N: I will, thanks. See you at work tomorrow.

Soonyoung: See you tomorrow.

After that, you decided to enjoy the rest of your day by ordering a pizza from the restaurant near your apartment and watching your favorite movie for the thousandth time while you ate it. The time to just exist in your apartment and not worry about expectations from your boss or what your coworkers thought of you was badly needed, and at the end of the day, you went to bed feeling much better about the mandatory fun your boss had spent the past week subjecting you to.

When you went back to work the following Monday, you noticed that everyone in the office was far nicer to you than usual, except for Soonyoung. He wasn’t exactly rude to you, but he also didn’t talk to you nearly as much as he had when the two of you were away. You didn’t worry too much, though, assuming that he was just tired from the trip and wanted a bit of space.

After a few weeks of Soonyoung not talking to you unless it was absolutely necessary, however, you started to worry. Had you said or done something to upset him at some point while you were at the retreat? You had no idea, so you decided to try again to talk to him whenever you could get him alone.

The opportunity to ask Soonyoung what the hell was going on came when you least expected it. You’d gone into the office break room and noticed that he was the only person there. He saw you at the same time that you saw him, and he tried to leave the room. Before he could, though, you stood in front of the door and asked, “Why haven’t you been talking to me?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he answered, clearly uncomfortable.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you answered, sick of his shit already. “Since we got home, you’ve refused to talk to me unless you absolutely have to. Why?”

With a sigh, Soonyoung said, “I just got nervous around you after the stuff that happened during the retreat. Can I make it up to you?”

“How?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, baby,” he answered, with that god damn smirk forming on his face as he spoke. Honestly, it probably shouldn’t have had the effect on you that it did, especially when you considered how upset you were that he’d been avoiding you. When you looked into his eyes, however, you didn’t care that he’d upset you. All you could think about was how badly you wanted him.

So, you turned away from Soonyoung just long enough to lock the door before turning back to him and kissing him with everything you had. The intensity almost knocked him over, but he stood firm as he wrapped his arms around you. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Soonyoung pulled away just long enough to say, “Just tell me what you want, baby, and it’s yours.”

“Want you.”

“I kind of figured as much,” he teased. “Do you want my mouth, my fingers, or my cock, princess?”

“Fingers, please?”

“Your wish is my command, my darling,” he said as he shifted your panties to the side and gently inserted two fingers into you. You cried out at the feeling, moving your hips ever so slightly as he fucked you.

With another loud whine, you said, “Feels so good.”

“I know, baby. I love how much of a mess you are for me.”

His words made your head spin, and you started to buck your hips up to meet his hand again. With every movement, you felt yourself already heading toward your release. This time, you were slightly embarrassed, but your arousal overruled any judgement or embarrassment as you lost yourself in the way Soonyoung’s fingers felt inside of you.

“I’m close,” you said, desperate to reach your high.

Once he processed what you said, Soonyoung started to lightly kiss your neck, and his mouth on you was the exact push that you needed to go tumbling over the edge. He continued to gently fuck you through your release until you started to push his hand away, overwhelmed by the continued stimulation.

Once you came down from your high, you leaned closer to Soonyoung to kiss him, but he moved at the last second, sending you tumbling to the floor. After you caught your breath, you stood up and asked, “What the fuck?”

Soonyoung didn’t answer, though, because he was too busy unlocking the door and running out of the room, since you were no longer blocking him. Once you realized that he’d left, and you were alone in the break room, you started to sob uncontrollably, wondering what you’d done wrong for him to treat you like you were nothing to him unless he was fucking you.

Once you calmed down, you stood up, brushed yourself off, and walked out of the break room to go back to the work you’d left unfinished. When you got back to your desk, Wonwoo approached you and asked, “Are you ok? Mingyu said he heard sobs coming from the break room.”

The question almost made you cry again, but you managed to maintain your composure long enough to choke out, “I’m fine. It’s a long story. Can I tell you later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“That what friends are for,” he said with a smile.

Wonwoo walked away after that, and you went back to your work. For the most part, you didn’t have any additional problems, which you appreciated. The only real issue was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with Soonyoung. Why had he been so cold toward you after what happened in the break room? You had no idea, so you tried to the best of your ability to not think about it. All of your thoughts were on Soonyoung once again, however, when he sent you a text after work.

Soonyoung: I’m sorry I left as quickly as I did. Seungcheol texted me to tell me to get back to work, and I panicked.

Y/N: Are you fucking serious? You couldn’t have said something before you left the room?

After that, you didn’t get a reply, so you decided to try again to avoid thinking about Soonyoung. Just like every other time you’d tried to purge unwanted thoughts from your head, however, thoughts of him and what he wanted from you plagued pretty much every waking moment. After weeks of struggling with what to do, you decided to go to the man that started it all for advice.

When you showed up at Mingyu’s apartment unannounced, your friend was surprised, to say the least. Regardless, he happily let you into his apartment and asked, “What’s up?”

“We need to talk about Soonyoung.”

“What do you mean?

“He won’t talk to me unless he wants to fuck.”

“That doesn’t sound like Soonyoung. He’s an idiot, sure, but he’s not an asshole.” To prove your point, you showed Mingyu your messaging history with Soonyoung. He was surprised to say the least, but he didn’t try to argue anymore. All he said was, “I’m so sorry. If I’d known he’d act that way, I would never have set you two up.”

“I’m not here for an apology. I’m here for advice. I want to ignore the way I feel about him, but I just can’t anymore.”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘the way you feel about him?’”

You sighed and answered, “I think I want an actual relationship with him.”

Mingyu was shocked by your admission, but once he got over that, he said, “I think you should tell him that.”

“’Gyu, I love you, but are you crazy?”

“Please, just trust me on this.”

“Trusting you is what got me into this situation in the first place!”

“And trusting me is what’s going to get you out of it. I know Soonyoung. If you tell him, he’ll realize that he’s been acting like an idiot and fix things.”

With a sigh, you reluctantly said, “Ok. Thanks for the advice.”

“It’s no problem. You know I’ll always be here for you.”

With that, you pulled Mingyu into a hug, hoping that he was right about Soonyoung. As you left his apartment, you contemplated when you wanted to talk to him. After some careful consideration, you knew exactly when and how you wanted to confront him.

In the end, you decided that Valentine’s Day was the perfect time to go to Soonyoung’s apartment and confront him. You didn’t initially want the discussion to happen on the holiday, but when you realized that it was the next time you would be free, you knew that you had the perfect opportunity to solve the Soonyoung problem once and for all. Either he would confess that he wanted more, which was perfect for the holiday of love, or he would tell you he never wanted to see you again, which would be a perfect example of dark irony. Regardless of the outcome, you figured that there was no better time to get the answers that you so desperately wanted.

You knocked on Soonyoung’s door, and it took some time for him to answer it. When he opened the door and saw you standing in front of him, he tried to close the door. Before he could fully shut it, however, you yelled, “Can we talk, please?”

Hesitantly, Soonyoung opened the door again and asked, “What do you want?”

“I wanna know why you only talk to me when you’re horny.”

“What? What the fuck do you-”

“Every time you’ve called or texted me since we’ve been home from that stupid retreat that Seungcheol put together, it’s been because you wanted sex. I want to know why you think so little of me that you think that’s ok.”

“I don’t think that little of you.”

“Then why the fuck do you do it?”

With a deep sigh, he answered, “Just come inside, and we’ll talk.”

Reluctantly, you agreed, and he moved out of the doorway to let you in. Once you were in his apartment, he led you to his couch. As you sat down, you asked, “Why did we have to talk here?”

With a deep sigh, Soonyoung said, “So I could do this,” and kissed you.

You started to melt into the kiss, just like you always did when you were with him, but it only took a minute for you to snap out of it, pull away, and say, “I’m not having sex with you today, Soonyoung.”

“I know.”

You were quiet after that, confused by the way he was acting and irritated that you let the situation get as far as it did. After a few minutes lost in your thoughts, you said, “Just tell me what you want. If you just want someone to have sex with, tell me. If you want a relationship, tell me. Either way, I’ll be ok. I just can’t stand the games.”

It was in that moment that Soonyoung realized that he fucked up. With another deep sigh, he said, “I want a relationship with you. I’m sorry that I ever made you think otherwise. Can you forgive me?”

You softened when you noticed the tears forming in his eyes, and against your better judgement, you said, “Of course.”

Soonyoung smiled and pulled you into a hug after that, relieved that he hadn’t lost you completely. While he held you close, he said, “Does this mean what I think it means?” You nodded against him, and he let go of you just long enough to cup your face in his hands and say, “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“Thank you for finally giving me a straight answer about what I am to you.”

With that same smirk on his face, he asked, “So, baby, how do you want to celebrate our first Valentine’s Day together?”

“I’m happy to celebrate however you want. As long as we’re spending time together, I’m fine with anything. I still don’t want to have sex tonight, though.”

“That’s perfectly fine, princess. I’m sorry about how I treated you. You must think I’m an idiot, huh?”

“Just a little, but you’re my idiot.”

With that, you relaxed into Soonyoung’s hold, content with the way your conversation went. You weren’t entirely sure that you trusted him yet, but you still wanted to give him a chance. After all, you liked the way that he made you feel now that you weren’t angry anymore.

Thank you for reading! I loved participating in this event. Once again, thank you to @ddeonghwa-s for the opportunity to participate! If you liked this, please like and reblog! If you wanna be tagged in future works, fill out the taglist form here! If you want to check out my other works, check out my main masterlist. If you want to see what else is in the works, you can check my upcoming works list! If none of that interests you, or there's something specific you want to see, feel free to send a request via my asks or dms!

Thank you again for reading, have a lovely Valentine's Day!

[isasweetie]

track iv. THE MAN! (feat. ceo!rafe cameron and indepedent!reader)

“i’m so sick of them coming at me again, ‘cause if i was a man, then i’d be the man”

your boss was simply insufferable. rude, strict, slimy, arrogant, and worst of all? handsome. and you had absolutely no issue telling him that — the bad things, anyway. every time he’d offer help for such a simple task, you’d push him away with a glare or a ‘get out of here, mr. cameron!’ thinking he was simply being condescending. but my god, he thought your attitude was hot.

the day he asked you if you needed help cleaning your coffee mug was when you snapped. you’d already had an awful day, and you couldn’t take him and his demeaning behaviour anymore.

“mr. cameron, it’s a fucking mug! do you think i’m that stupid just because i’m a woman? is that it? i wear skirts to work so i can’t wash my own mug!? you’re a condesending asshole!”

he takes a breath as to not yell back. “woah, hey, hey. uh, i’m gonna need to see you in my office. ten minutes, give you time to fuckin’ chill out. is it that time of the month?”

you go to lose it at him and he cuts you off. “don’t say any more shit unless you wanna lose everything, hm?”

ten minutes later, you hesitantly enter his office, admittedly a bit nervous. “mr. cameron, i just wanna say—“

“no, no. too late now for an apology.”

“but i’m really sorry—“

“show me that.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “what do you mean? how?”

he stands up and grabs your shoulders gently, then his hands slide down your arms and to your wrists. you blink, confused and having your boundaries violated.

“uh— so you don’t get me fuckin fired, let me ask you something, a little formality,” he starts. “do you consent?”

“to what?”

“not an answer. do you consent?”

having a strange burst of butterflies in your stomach, you know what’s coming. “mhm,”

“yeah, that’s what i thought,” a ghost of a smirk as he smiles and guides you by your wrists to the wall. with no hesitation, his hand is going under your skirt. “mhm. fuckin’ soaked, makes sense,”

“you’re so arrogant, it’s insufferable.”

“i’m just stating a fact baby,”

“don’t call me that, m’not your ‘baby’,”

he breaths out a laugh. “yeah, whatever you say. starting to think you’re more arrogant than me,”

“not arrogant, just don’t like you,”

“tell that to this pussy,” he cups it and you squeak, suddenly feeling extremely powerless against your man child of a boss.

“don’t wanna do this like this,” you say fastly, stopping it. “lemme— lemme do it,” he stops, hands in the air in mock surrender, taking a step back.

he certainly isn’t expecting you to drop to your knees in front of him. in his mind, a blowjob is a surrender, letting him take control. you fiddle with his fly. he goes to help and you paw him off. “don’t need help for something so fucking simple, get your slimy hands away,”

you undo it and waste no time taking his dick out of his pants. you hate the way your mouth waters. “oh.” you try to keep your composure. “thought it would be small. you give that energy,”

“gee, thanks,” he huffs. “c’mon, get going.”

“ask nicer,”

“jesus,” he sighs. “i’ll pay you extra to get going, huh? that nice enough?”

“you’re gross. talking about a ‘please.’”

he scoffs. “no fuckin’ way, you kidding me? not begging to get off, i’m not a woma—“ he cuts himself off.

all you do is harshly pinch his tip with your long acrylics, making him gasp in pain, before standing up, scoffing. “good one, really funny. sure your friends will get a kick out of it,” you dust yourself off. “you’re disgusting,”

as you walk away, you can hear him silently begging for you to come back and suck him off.

for once, you feel like the man.

[adrixivy]

You know I realised something today. There’s a stark contrast between the animated versions of Spider-Man/ Peter Parker and the movie versions

Like we know Peter is hella awkward and he is kind. With or without the suit, his personality is mixed with confident and awkward. But ultimate Spider-Man is a completely different breed. Most of the time rude and hella arrogant. Ultimate Peter was so spiteful it’s hilarious. Spectacular Spider-Man wasn’t quite like Ultimate Spider-Man but there are some parts worth noting.

Peter in the movies is devoted to one girl. MJ or Gwen. Spectacular Peter?? Man had four women. MJ, Gwen, that one cheerleader and mf black cat. Ultimate Peter tho was hella gay for Harry. He rather spent time with him than the gang.

Spider-Man in the movies was quite humble. They knew not to push it. Just stay as Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman. Minus Tom. He was pulled into the big leagues. He didn’t want it at first. Tom’s Spidey was hella awkward with Tony too at first. He acknowledges him as someone with high authority. Hell, he wouldn’t even think of himself standing next to Tony when suddenly the man himself appears in his apartment

Ultimate Spidey? Every time he sees Tony Stark, he is imagining himself as a higher ranked person if he is alongside Tony. But the fanboying stays atleast. You can tell he’s quite arrogant here.

Not to mention, he’s a spiteful man. I remember there was one scene he’s talking to Fury and Fury tells him not to be late. Then he’s all like “You don’t have to teach me something I already know!” or something like that. Then he storms out like a kid with a tantrum and the door closes after he leaves. Then Fury just says “Teenagers” and Peter with his enhanced hearing obviously heard that. The man opens the door, webs both sides and pulls it, smashing the door, just to prove Fury’s point of ‘Yes I’m the average teenager full of spite’

It’s hilarious.

(I just love ultimate Spider-Man. He’s so overhated.)

[leclerc-hs]

tachycardia! pt. 1 - cl16

pairing: doctor!charles leclerc x nurse!reader (alpha/omega au) summary: in which you don't always get along with the arrogant alpha doctor warnings: LIGHT a/b/o dynamics, angst??, none really (yet!), badly translated french, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 1.7k author's note: hi so this is the first part!! I'm thinking about turning this into like a "blurb" series, like i'll do a bunch of parts with them but they won't be toooooo long. emphasis on the LIGHT a/b/o dynamics because i am STILL leaning all about it but I'm sure the more I write the better with it I will get. I def will discuss more about it during smut scenes. let me know what you guys think and what else you would like to see happen between them!! don't be shy!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN’T HATRED, per se, but more so the fact that you both knew how to get under each other’s skin so easily. 

The amount of time it took for Doctor Leclerc to make some sort of asshole comment as you entered the doors of the hospital was little to none. It was almost a predetermined ritual at this point. So common that you should’ve been more concerned with the premise that he might’ve memorized your schedule just so it’s his face you see first thing every time you arrive to work. 

You had made a solemn vow to yourself long ago never to become romantically involved with a doctor. Any doctor for that matter. The allure of dating a doctor might have seemed appealing in theory, but they tended to exude an air of pretentiousness, rudeness, and arrogance that left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Doctor Leclerc was what you would consider the living embodiment of this, a constant reminder of the vows you made in the first place. Yet, the fact that he was probably the hottest fucking man you have ever seen, made it hard to not want to blur the lines sometimes. His chiseled features and commanding presence were sometimes a magnetic force, no matter how much he annoyed you.

So, you wonder why, even as you’re leaned against the nurse’s station with an elbow propped on it, you can’t help but stare at the muscles of his back poking through his scrubs and white coat, as he pours a cup of coffee into his mug. His massive shoulders rising and falling as he picks the coffee pot up and places it back down.

-

“Did he say something to you?” You ask as you press a tissue into the hands of one of your co-workers, April. You didn’t know that well, but nurses stuck together regardless.

“I’m fine,” she says, but the tears welling up in her eyes, made you know better. “I just need to stop being so sensitive.” The words hang in the air, a fragile façade masking the turmoil within, and you recognize the weight of her emotions despite her attempt to downplay them.

“He must have been a proper douche,” you remark, the water from the bathroom sink running over your hands as you meet April’s gaze through the mirror. “What did he do?” Your tone carries a mix of concern and frustration.

Her hesitance to disclose wasn’t rooted in desire to withhold information, but rather in a reluctance to escalate the situation unnecessarily. Aware of your tendency to stand up to Doctor Leclerc, she treaded cautiously. You turned back around to face her, an eyebrow raised as if you’re saying spill the beans already.

“Well,” she begins, her grip tightening on the crumpled tissue in her fist, “all I did was ask if the symptom the patient was experiencing was a common side effect of the medication we prescribed her, just to be sure.” You cross your arms over your chest, you can feel the agitation growing in your chest. “He wasn’t mean in front of the patient, but he pulled me aside after and told me how unprofessional it is to be questioning in front of a patient.” Her voice wavers with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Your lips press into a thin line as she recounts the encounter. “He then told me that I should’ve paid better attention in school and then maybe I would know the answer,” she emphasizes, tinged with a hint of bitterness. The word “maybe” lingers in the air, weighted with insinuation, as if Doctor Leclerc’s implication stung deeper than mere criticism.

“What an alpha asshole!” you exclaim, your frustration evident in the forceful wave of your hands. “Don’t listen to him.” You offer her comfort, a smile of reassurance accompanying your words, a silent vow to stand by her side.

April’s lips curl upward into a small, grateful smile, her eyes softening as she murmurs a heartfelt “thanks”. In that moment, her expression speaks volumes, conveying both appreciation for your support and glimmer of relief.

-

You saw him before he saw you. 

As you step through the doorway into one of your patient’s rooms, a pang of exasperation washes over you, accompanied by the silent question of what you did to deserve this particular form of punishment. It feels like a cruel twist of fate to find Doctor Leclerc attending to one of your patients, whom had just recently had a coronary angioplasty and a stent placement. Despite the urge to roll your eyes, you summon all your professionalism and force one of the biggest smiles onto your face. It’s a façade of warmth and cooperation, masking the internal tension brewing beneath the surface.

There he stood, a figure of authority on the opposite end of the bed, his arms folded across his chest as he chuckled at whatever anecdote your patient shared with him. His laughter, though genuine, seemed to echo with a hint of superiority. You can’t help but notice the subtle flex of his jaw muscles as his head tilts back briefly. The sight of his scruff and the contours of his muscular neck send a tingling sensation coursing through you.

You need to snap out of it! You repeat to yourself, a silent mantra echoing in your mind. You were so preoccupied with convincing yourself that Doctor Leclerc wasn’t unbelievably attractive that you failed to notice the scrutiny of two pairs of eyes now fixed upon you. The sudden realization jolts you back to the present, and you redirect your focus to the patient.

You didn’t need to glance at Doctor Leclerc to sense the presence of a smirk tugging at his lips; it was almost palpable, a silent acknowledgement that he had caught you staring at him. Distracted by him. 

“Glad you can join us, mon lapin.” My bunny.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of irritation igniting within you. That forsaken nickname—he just couldn’t resist. Ever since your first day, when you innocently showed up with a tote bag adorned with colorful bunnies, he had taken great delight in teasing you with it.

“Ne m’appele pas comme ça.”  Don’t call me that.

The patient looked up at both of you, eyes full of delight in entertainment.

His verdant eyes look at you for a few seconds, contemplating something, before looking back at the patient. “I’ll make sure you’re out of here in no time,” he assures the patient, his voice full of warmth. “I just need to check your vitals, and hopefully we can have you out here in a few days.” His words are reassuring, delivered with a blend of confidence and empathy that contrasts with the earlier tension in the room. Despite your reservations, you can’t deny that he provides great care for his patients.

“How has your medication been? Still uncomfortable?” You inquire, while Doctor Leclerc listens intently to your patient’s chest with his stethoscope.

“A little bit,” your patient murmurs in response, pausing between deep breaths as instructed by Doctor Leclerc.

“I’ll make sure you get another dose of aspirin to help ease the pain.” You promise with a tight-lipped smile as Doctor Leclerc removes the stethoscope from his ears.

“I think we need to reconsider the dosage,” you assert, meeting Doctor Leclerc’s gaze.

“We don’t want to risk any adverse effects.” His eyes, a much darker hue of green now, narrow at you, like he can’t believe you’re telling him what to do. “I’ve already adjusted his medication. It’s within the recommended for his condition.” 

He shifts his focus back to the patient, the darkness and annoyance that once clouded his eyes now dissipating. “Everything is looking great! I’ll check on you tomorrow morning,” he reassures the patient with a warm smile before bidding his farewells. As he turns to you, nodding toward the doorway, his demeanor shifts, and a lethal glare meets your gaze. Without a word, you follow him out the room, bracing yourself. You refuse to cower, meeting his glare with a steely resolve of your own. Each step you take alongside him is a silent assertion.

His touch on your elbow sends a jolt of tingles to your stomach as he swiftly turns you around, your back now pressed firmly against the wall. His gaze pierces through you with a lethal intensity. 

“Que pensez-vous faire?” What do you think you’re doing? He pinched the bridge of his nose in between his pointer finger and thumb, with his eyes scrunched as if he got a splitting headache in the span of one second. Like he was in pain. Did you know how strong you scent was? He wondered mindlessly, almost forgetting why he was so mad at you in the first place.

You thought nothing of his actions, too busy feeling the anger swell in the pit of your stomach.

Your eyes roll in exasperation, and your eyebrows knit together in annoyance at the audacity of this man. 

His eyes meet your again and can’t help but think how beautiful you look, even when angry. How he would just love to bend you over his knee and remind you who is in charge.

“Je veille sur mon patient.” I’m looking out for my patient.

He rests his hands on his hips, stealing a glance at his beeping pager before fixing his gaze back on you. His eyes, nearly black, pierce through you. “Non, tu essaies juste de provoquer une dispute comme d’habitude,” You’re just trying to start an argument as usual. He grits through clenched teeth. “His medication is completely fine, et tu le sais!” And you know it!

So, maybe you were trying to start an argument with him. Especially after April’s crying face came to your mind.

He’s so close that you can hardly think around his scent. It’s almost intoxicating.

“Don’t ever make April cry again.” You jab your finger into his shoulder, reminding yourself why you’re here in the first place.

He blinks, and you catch the glimmer of recognition spreading across his features. “Elle n’a aucun courage” She has no spine. He remarks before continuing, “She should learn from you. You probably have spare spines.” He steps back from you before striding down the hallway in opposite direction of the nurse’s station.

No matter how annoyed you were, you couldn't peel your eyes off his muscular back until he was completely out of sight. You scoffed at yourself. How pathetic am I? You questioned yourself repeatedly until you take in his last words to you.

Did he just make a joke?

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

A Week at Hers.

Synopsis: she’s famous you’re not, but by fate you two were assigned for a video project and things started to change.

Word Count: 1,773

Karina X Male Reader !!

You sat at the very back of the classroom, like always — slouched in your chair, half-asleep, barely hearing a word from the teacher’s lecture.

It was just noise. Background static. Nothing new.

Then came the announcement:

“For your midterm project, you’ll be making a video. You and your partner must spend a week together — documenting something meaningful.”

Suddenly, the room came alive.

Every student in class turned their heads toward one person: Karina.

Beautiful. Kind. Smart. The kind of girl who somehow existed in every hallway at once — the campus star.

“Hey Karina! Partner with me!” one guy called out.

“No, with me!” someone else followed.

A chaotic wave of voices and names piled on, echoing off the walls like a swarm.

Karina smiled awkwardly through it, but you could tell — she was getting overwhelmed.

“Enough!” the teacher snapped, slamming her clipboard on the table.

“If this continues, I’ll assign the partners myself.”

A wave of silence hit instantly.

She began reading names off the list.

“Ningning, you’re with Aeri.”

“Jeno, you’re with Taeyong.”

More names came and went. Some groaned, others whispered curses under their breath.

And then—

“Karina… you’ll be partnered with Y/N.”

Every head turned. Eyes swung to the back of the room — to you.

You blinked slowly, earbuds still in, unsure if you even heard that right.

Karina’s eyes widened just a little, but then…

She smiled.

Every single head turned toward the back of the class — toward you.

The quiet one. The nobody. The one who never even raised their hand.

“Wait, Y/N? That Y/N?” someone whispered.

“No way…” another muttered, eyebrows raised.

A guy scoffed from the front row.

“Must be a mistake.”

Someone else leaned toward their friend, already gossiping.

“Why would she be stuck with him?”

Class finally ended.

Everyone shuffled toward their assigned partners, voices rising in chatter and laughter.

You stayed seated, slipping your earbuds in, unmoved by the social buzz.

But people noticed.

“He’s partnered with Karina and doesn’t even care?” someone whispered.

“Seriously. That’s so rude. Poor Karina,” another muttered behind cupped hands.

You stared out the window, lost in the beat of your music — until a shadow blocked the sunlight warming your face.

You looked up.

Karina.

Standing in front of you with a gentle smile, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey, I’m Karina,” she said brightly. “Nice to meet you. I figured… we should get to know each other more.”

You pulled out your earbud and nodded, offering a faint smile back.

People thought you were cold. Arrogant.

But you weren’t. Just… misunderstood.

Karina didn’t flinch, didn’t look uncomfortable.

She just… stood there like she wanted to see the real you, no questions asked.

As you both left campus, she walked beside you like it was normal — no hesitation.

“Hey Y/N, what’s your socials? Or number’s fine too,” she said casually, swinging her phone out.

“I figured we can start talking about the project. It’s a full week, after all.”

You glanced at her.

Her tone wasn’t forced. Her smile wasn’t plastic.

She was kind. The real kind.

The kind that doesn’t feel staged or sweet for the sake of reputation.

It made you pause.

You’d always assumed people like her wore masks. But Karina?, She felt like someone who deserved the spotlight — not someone addicted to it.

You held your phone out toward her, screen glowing with your profile.

“Here’s my Instagram. I’ll follow you.”

Karina leaned in, a breeze catching the edge of her hair as she tapped into her app.

She angled her phone so you could see.

Her account popped up — clean, aesthetic, and…

205K followers.

Your brows raised immediately.

“Two hundred thousand?! Holy— I’m sorry for even trying to follow you.”

You chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

Karina just laughed.

“What, were you expecting ten?”

“I mean, maybe… a hundred? Not… verified-worthy levels,” you muttered, eyeing her account again.

“And you only follow two people? That’s terrifying. Are you sure it’s okay I’m even here?”

She bumped her shoulder into yours lightly.

“It’s just Instagram, Y/N. Not a blood pact. I liked talking to you — so yeah, I’m sure.”

You looked at her — really looked.

No smugness. No condescending smile.

Just Karina. Just honest.

“Alright, then… I’ll wait for your message,” you said, stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

You gave her a short wave as you turned around.

“See you, Karina

You were lying on your bed, earphones in, the world blocked out by music—until your phone buzzed.

Karina calling.

You blinked.

A call? You expected maybe a message, not this.

You answered.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Sorry—did I disturb you?” Her voice was light, a little unsure.

“Nah, you’re good. Just didn’t expect a call, that’s all.”

“I feel more comfortable talking on a call.”

A pause.

An excuse maybe—but one you didn’t mind.

You didn’t say it out loud, but… you liked hearing her voice too.

The conversation flowed easier than you expected.

You talked about the video — how to structure it, what tone to go for — but somehow ended up swapping weird facts and funny childhood stories.

She told you about the time she tried to microwave metal.

You told her about the time you accidentally submitted a meme for a math assignment.

You laughed more than usual.

Eventually, you both agreed:

“Let’s spend the week at my home— Talk about hobbies, routines, and all that on camera.”

The week had begun — You arrived at her house.

Her house was big, almost unfairly pretty — like her.

But you expected that.

She greeted you at the door in an oversized hoodie and dolphin shorts.

Barefaced. Casual.

Still stunning.

“Hi, Y/N! Come in. Your room’s right beside mine — hope I didn’t crush your dreams of us sharing a bed, huh?”

She nudged your shoulder playfully.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“Wasn’t planning that. I’m not a weirdo.”

“Aww, not the mischievous type? Boring.”

“Sorry?”

She laughed — then, without thinking, grabbed your hand to lead you inside.

It was instinct.

Only afterward did her cheeks flare pink.

Her voice stumbled as she gave you the house tour, camera recording every second.

You both sit in front of the camera, explaining childhood memories.

She shows her old art — clumsy at first, but sweet.

Talks about her favorite books, dramatic retellings and all.

She laughs with her whole body, and you try not to smile too obviously.

You’re lying on the guest bed, music drifting from your phone.

Eyes tracing the ceiling like it might spell out answers.

Then, a soft knock.

“Y/N? You awake? You good?”

“Come in.”

Karina steps inside.

The light hits her just right — and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“Why’re you listening to sad music?” she asks, sitting near your legs.

“It gives me ideas for writing,” you say, smiling.

“That’s… such a weird thing to say.”

She giggles.

“But hey, I can’t blame you.”

The night stretches on.

You talk. And talk.

About your favorite foods. Dreams. Dumb things you used to do.

She tells you she wanted to be a singer once.

You tell her about the first time you wrote a full story and cried after.

Time becomes soft and quiet.

Somewhere between her teasing and your half-sarcastic replies, her body leans toward yours.

And without noticing —

She’s curled in your arms. Warm. Breathing steady. Trusting.

You’re blushing so hard it almost hurts.

But you don’t move.

Neither does she.

You both fall asleep like that — tangled, close, and completely unaware of how much had already changed.

The first day felt like a dream you weren’t supposed to be living.

After the house tour — full of stumbles, blushes, and laughter — you both sat in front of her camera, answering simple “get to know me” questions. But everything led to something deeper.

“What’s your comfort food?”

“What do you do when no one’s around?”

“Who do you feel the safest with?”

Karina always turned the questions on you. Curious. Genuine.

By nighttime, she was lying on her bed with her legs kicking in the air, you seated on the floor against the bedframe. She watched you with half-lidded eyes, voice soft.

“Hey… you can sleep here if you want. Again. Like last night.”

You looked up.

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“It’s weird, but I sleep better when you’re around.”

That night, the camera was off.

It was just the two of you — tangled in a pile of blankets, her head on your chest. The sound of rain outside made the world smaller, quieter.

She talked about her past — about being lonely, despite being loved by many. You didn’t interrupt. You just listened, heart softening at every word.

“You’re easy to be with, Y/N… no pretending, no needing to smile all the time.”

You wanted to say something, anything — but all that came out was a small smile, your fingers brushing her knuckles in return.

The last night was different.

She was quiet at dinner. Kept glancing at you.

You noticed, but didn’t push.

Later, when you were lying on your back, music humming from your phone again, she knocked once — then came in without waiting.

She climbed beside you.

No teasing this time.

No jokes.

Just her, curling into your side, pulling your arm over her like it belonged there.

Silence. Safe and heavy.

Then, her voice — quiet enough to almost get lost in the air between your heartbeats.

“Y/N… I don’t know how to say this without sounding dramatic…”

You stayed still. Listening.

“But… when I said I sleep better with you, I meant it. You make things quiet. Safe. And… I think I like you. Not just because you’re kind, or honest, or quiet… but because with you, I don’t feel like I have to be anyone else.”

She buried her face into your hoodie. Embarrassed.

You were stunned. Blushing hard.

But your hand moved on its own — brushing her hair, resting gently behind her back.

“Then sleep here again,” you whispered.

“I already planned to.”

And in the soft glow of her nightlight, with your arms holding onto something you never expected but secretly wished for —

The story you posted 2 weeks later.

Some of the Comments.

“Dude you have a girlfriend?!”

“that’s gotta be Karina isn’t it? everyone liked the presentation you two did.”

“lucky mf”

“love potion recipe reveal please.”

[daengtokki]

Kim Seungmin/gn!reader

wc: ~2.7k

rating: mildly angsty cheesy fluff (idiot enemies to lovers)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ happy (belated) birthday to @thackery-blinks and our Seungmo ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“I don't wanna see him...I don't like him, I think I hate him”

you what?

If anyone were in the room with you, they definitely would have heard her booming voice coming through the phone. You have to pull it away from your ear for a moment, but that’s all she has to say. For now.

“I said…” you rub your ringing ear and turn the volume down. “I said I hate him.”

hate is a big word, I'm not sure he deserves that

“He’s arrogant, and he's rude to me. Don’t pretend you’ve suddenly forgotten.”

you’re hyper-fixating…and maybe a little jealous because he’s cute and funny around everyone else. and he’s not rude, he can’t be rude if he never says anything to you

You can hear her laugh even though she moves away from the phone.

“Are you trying to piss me off? I’ll stay home tonight, and you know that’s not just a threat.” You will. You hate going out at the last minute almost as much as you can’t stand Kim Seungmin. “...such an asshole.”

excuse me??

“Not you, shut up”

he has a weird sense of humor…c’mon, you know what this is, right?

“Yeah. A congrats slash going away party for our favorite touchy kissy couple. Is it awful that I’m relieved I won’t have to be subjected to any more of their over-the-top pda?”

no, I won’t miss it…but you’re also chronically angry and single, so you might be more relieved—but that’s not what I was I referring to

“I’m ready, are you on your way?”

yeah, this lights been red for ten minutes, I swear…what’s with the selective hearing tonight? I’m coming in to make sure you’re dressed right so don’t wait for me outside

“I hear you, I just don’t wanna listen to your ‘Seungmin actually likes you’ theory again”

my hypothesis…I need more evidence

/ / /

She’s quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive, only because a perfect string of songs pop up on the playlist, but as soon as it ends, she turns the volume down…

“Are you ready to hear this?”

“No”

“Alright, so there’s literally no reason…none at all for Seungmin to not like you, or be weird around you, or less talkative, or just walk away when you enter the room”

“But he does all of those things”

“Right. Do you not read romance novels? Fanfiction?”

“What kind of fanfiction are you reading?”

She’s already exhausted of your aloofness…or just your refusal to accept anything more than what’s already in your head. But you’ve known him, known of him, for a few months now. He doesn’t give you anything aside from what you catch when he’s with others. You’re invisible when he’s in the room, and the more you think about it, the shittier you feel.

“Hello, you good? You might not read fanfiction, but you’re staring out of that window like the protagonist in very sad story. No, antagonist. You’re my antagonist.”

“I am not,” you sigh. Everything suddenly feels very heavy, and maybe it’s because you know you’re almost there.

“There wasn’t much fight in that. You better perk up, we’re almost there.”

/ / /

The first thing you see is him, and it’s not because you’re looking. Seungmin is leaning against the staircase bannister, arms folded loosely over his sweatshirt. He’s less than ten feet away when the two of you walk in the door, but he doesn’t move, and he doesn’t turn his head out of curiosity. You’re surprised he doesn’t sense your presence and walk away.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says, making sure to gently shove you forward in his direction. “But we brought gifts!”

Now Seungmin looks at the two of you. First his eyes land on her, but they quickly dart in your direction, and they linger much longer than you expect. As much as you don’t want to scare him off, you take the rare moment to look at him from such a small distance—just his eyes, though.

“It’s us, we’re the gifts”

Seungmin clears his throat and takes his leave, just like you expect.

“Well, go after him”

“Why would I go after him? Please, give it a rest…I’m already tired.”

“Okay, okay…I’m sorry. Are you good?”

“No.” They’re angry tears, but nobody else knows that. "Not really." To the other eight people in the room, tears are tears, and you don’t want them seeing you, but it's too much to hold back. “I need a minute.”

You shove through her and the next arriving couple on your way outside, but you didn’t really think beyond this. It’s cold out, and you’re not really dressed to sit around by the water, but that’s where you head on instinct. It’s empty back here, which is what you need right now, and the cool air on your warm, red, tear-streaked face. Why are you even crying? Nothing has happened, not really. Seungmin looked at you, and his stupid brown eyes sparkled and grew as they watched you for far too long. Why did he have to look at you like that?

The gazebo is what you typically claim when you’re back here. That’s where you go. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s pretty, and it keeps you mostly hidden from anyone looking out from the house.

A text message buzzes, but you take your time pulling it out and checking. All it’s going to be is someone, your friend, looking for you.

come back inside

“I’ll think about it” …you reply.

he never came back in the room, if that makes you feel better

“It doesn’t”

You get a few more minutes of peace and quiet, but you’ll admit that you’re already getting cold sitting out here. The wind is coming off of the lake and right at you, and every time a stray tear falls, it feels like it might freeze. This won't accomplish anything, you know that, but hiding from everything is so much easier. You might hate yourself for it later, but right now you feel good in the chilly air.

And then there's a crunch of footsteps. You ignore it. Someone has found you, but that doesn’t mean you’re getting up and going with them that easily. You've already decided this is where you belong right now, and you'll stick to that until you're dragged back inside. The footsteps stop...whoever it is doesn’t speak, though. There's only the sound of something being dropped close to you ear, and the footsteps start to retreat almost immediately.

It’s a coat, draped neatly on the railing. A black cotton one that looks vaguely familiar, and when you turn a little more, you remember when you saw him wearing it last.

“Wait!”

You almost trip as you get to your feet, and you’re glad he hasn’t turned to see you yet. But he does—he stops and turns. He looks like he wants to keep walking, though, and he does…Seungmin takes a few more slow steps backward as he watches you grab the jacket and hold it against your chest. His scent reaches your nose. You’ve never been close enough to him to know it, but now you do.

There’s nothing to say, though. You have nothing to say to him, or you do and you just don’t know how to put the words together.

Seungmin stops, and then takes two steps toward you. Is he having fun? Is he just playing with you? Tears start to brim again, and luckily he’s not close enough to see it. If you don’t figure out your next move, he’ll turn and leave and you might not get this much attention from him again.

“Did she make you come out here?”

“Make me? No, nobody makes me do anything.”

You’re glad he’s not close enough to see you roll your eyes. “Then what’s this for?” You look at his jacket, and when you look back to him, he’s taking two more big steps toward you.

“It’s cold.” He says flatly, and maybe waits for your response that never comes. “I saw you walking out from the bathroom window. By yourself.”

“And?”

Are you making him uncomfortable? He looks like he doesn’t know how to answer for his actions, and maybe he doesn’t. He’s never concerned himself with your actions before, but you also never do anything to bring attention to yourself. This was an overreaction on your part.

“And…"

Uncomfortable, maybe. Confused…probably. Maybe you should kick him while he’s stumbling over himself. “Why are you concerned with how cold I am?”

Two more steps, and now he can definitely see your puffy face. “Sorry, I'll leave you alone."

He can’t be serious. Does he want you to explain this to him? The look on his face does seem a little helpless, and you’ve never seen him look anything but sure of himself.

“This is the second time you’ve spoken to me in months.” This is also the first time you’ve been alone with him for more than a few moments.

“That's because you always seem to be pissed off. You always look angry when I see you. You don't right now...you looked upset when you walked through the door a little bit ago.

Your eyes drop to the ground in front of him, and you have to work hard to relax the scowl on your face. “I’m not angry.”

"So I never tried talking to you. I assumed you didn't want to, since you never spoke to me, either."

The first time the two of you met, you exchanged a brief hello, and that was that. You remember it very well. Seungmin took your hand in his and squeezed it so softly. His eyes were intense, but warm, and now you’re wondering if you were wearing your scowl when you first looked at him. Why could you have?

“Put the coat on, please”

You’re shivering. So is he. Seungmin takes one more step and grabs the baluster, and you think he���s going to come up here with you, but he doesn’t. You let go of the coat and finally swing it around your shoulders. The scent coming from it makes your knees weak.

“Thank you”

This time he steps up, and he’s at your level. Above it, actually. He’s looking down on you, and every bit of space closed between you makes you feel even weaker. Stupid, so stupid. Nothing is even happening. He’s just standing there, looking at you drowning in his warm jacket. You could curl up on the ground and fall asleep in all this warmth, but his stare is making you anxious.

“You look mad again”

“I’m not,” you pounce, and you force yourself to relax again. “I’m not mad. I…I’m just...”

“I have witnessed you smiling and laughing…not with me, but I always wondered why I couldn’t do it. I can never get anything from you.”

The conversation doesn’t feel real, but it’s real enough for the party guests—a few of them peer out through the kitchen window, thinking they’re being discreet.

Seungmin has made you laugh before, but only in your head. And he’s made you smile, too…as you’re drifting to sleep and thinking of him doing exactly what he’s doing right now.

“You do make me laugh”

“I do?”

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone I said that”

You make him laugh—Seungmin actually laughs, genuinely, and it sounds so much nicer than any laugh you’ve heard from him before.

“That’s not fair. They see you making me laugh right now.”

They do. Three people are by the patio door, probably wondering why he isn’t in there charming everyone. You managed to steal him away, and you wonder how long you can keep him out here with you despite your numb face.

“We should go back in, it’s cold. You’re cold.”

“I’m fine. I really didn’t wanna come tonight anyway, so being out here is better.”

“You’d rather stand out in the cold by yourself than hang out with everyone?”

“I’m not by myself”

He laughs under his breath, but his smile is a little bit wider. “So you’d rather stand out here with me than enjoy the party?”

Yes, you don’t say it out loud. How could you? The way you’ve played up your hatred for him to others, and your indifference to his face since you’ve met. It’s a little embarrassing. But it’s painful being around Seungmin…pretending you’re not upset every time you’re dragged to group outing is exhausting.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes unless you say otherwise”

Perfect. Saying nothing should be easy, but this time you open your mouth. “I can’t pretend I’m happy when I’m not.”

“You don’t have to”

“But I put on a mask when you’re around and make everyone think I’m unhappy, even when I’m not”

“You’re not?”

“I mean…I am, because you leave the room every time I walk in. But I’m not, because you’re still around, somewhere…and maybe I still have a chance.”

“A chance. So you don’t hate me?”

“No, but I don't want to get my heart broken," why are you spilling your guts to him? "So we should just go back to how things were before.” The words are just falling out of you, and looking at him like this and being with him, finally alone, makes you want to keep going until there's nothing left.

“No, we shouldn't. And I don't want mine broken, either.”

Seungmin is in front of you now, blocking you from everyone still hanging around the window. They seemed to be getting bored watching the two of you talk and do nothing else, so you at least feel like you’re alone with him again.

He reaches toward you, and you jump.

“Sorry,” he whispers and pulls at the collar of the jacket, “but if you’re not going inside,” and bends to connect and pull the zipper until it’s closed up to your chin.

You’re sure you look ridiculous in it—it’s already a little bit big on him. And no, you don’t want to go back in, because the thought of everyone staring at the two of you as you finally return…

“No, I’d rather go home”

“I can take you home”

“Everyone is in there waiting for you”

“The party will still be here when I get back”

“I don’t know you very well.” You pull the zipper down a few inches. “At all, actually.”

“Oh, you don’t want me to take you home?” He smirks. “That’s very smart and safe of you. I could be a serial killer for all you know.”

“I mean I don’t know enough about you to…ya know, like you as much as I do”

He laughs again…just a sweet, maybe a little embarrassed giggle. “So you do?”

“What?”

Seungmin is blushing. You’ve seen him do this before; the blush, the giggle, and the smile so big you thought his face would crack every time a someone flirted with him. It was hard to hide then—that horrible sinking feeling in your gut when you thought he might leave with one of them. But now he’s blushing for you, and nobody else.

“You've been skirting around the words the entire conversation, and you have to spell things out for me sometimes. I didn’t wanna make a move until you said it."

“Said what, that I want you?"

“Wow…yeah, if you wanna put it like that. You want me,” he laughs again, “I guess I want you, too.”

“Make a move, please.” You whisper through your chattering teeth, and turn your head as your heart threatens to jump right out of your chest.

“Please?” Seungmin smirks pulls the zipper down a bit more, enough that you catch the cold breeze on your neck and chest. And then he’s there, lips an inch from yours, and he stares. “Please.”

You close the space between you, cautiously press your lips to his. His return is just as hesitant, and you’re surprised at his shyness. The zipper comes down even more, and Seungmin doesn’t stop until the coat falls open again—now he has somewhere to put his arms. They disappear inside, and he squeezes tight and deepens the kiss. He kisses like you expected him to, mouth open, tongue gently asking to be let in, and you let him in. You’re finally warm again, and you’d like to be even warmer.

“Seungmin?” You touch his neck, and his skin is hot against your cold hands, but it doesn’t faze him. His mouth quiets you when you think of speaking again, and it pains you to pull him off of you.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want an audience”

He turns and sees the group of guests gathered near patio doors; his friends, yours…all either watching or pretending not to watch the show you two are putting on.

“You just want me, yeah?" His eyes sparkle as if he can do it on command.

“Just you.” Your teeth chatter again, no matter how hard you try to stop it.

“I don’t mind ditching them for a few hours”

“You don't?”

“Not if you wanna get warmed up"

[gisele0127]

michael kaiser is known to be very arrogant and slyly rude to almost everyone. almost. so who would have guess that the michael kaiser is very much insecure about his accent. no one knows of course, well except for you. most football players learn english, including your boyfriend. you yourself are not that good at german, so you speak to him in english. and he attempts to answer in english but gets very irritated when he stumbles over his words or pronounces something wrong.

it was another normal night, you got off from work and headed to your shared home. to your surprise he was already there in the dinning room youtube video pulled up, notebook on the table, and pencil on his ear. you could tell he was stressed by how tensed he was. he didn’t hear or see you come in so when you pecked his temple softly he jumped a little but relaxed once he realized it was you.

“studying my love?”

“yes” he answers with a soft nod.

you leave to your bedroom to let him focus back on his little english lesson. it wasn’t until a couple hours later until he got in bed brows knit and face in a pout. (he’s such a big baby it’s kinda cute)

“what’s wrong?” you say as he lays on top of you and you comfortingly rub his back.

“is my accent really that bad?”

you give him a puzzled look and he responds again “an interviewer told me to just get an interpreter because he couldn’t understand me through my ‘thick accent’”.

michael is very cocky yes, but his ego can be broken in a matter of seconds. and only you get to see him like this.

“don’t listen to them love. your english has gotten a lot better.”

you’re not the best at comforting, which promptly leads you to pepper kisses all over his face.

“as a matter of fact, i find your accent sexy.“

and to that he smiles,

“good because from now on i’m only speaking english to you”

you smile and softly laugh because your boyfriends accent is adorable when he’s pouting.