#but i have to be so careful i have to build up slowly or i will overdo it and turn into like a pile of seaweed

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a High Libido

~ inspired by an anon’s ask!

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: smut, 18+ content, mentions of sex, sweat, cum, bodily fluids, you get the idea.

Xavier

⭐️He is thrilled actually, because so does he

⭐️Don’t let the sleepy tendencies fool you, Xavier is ready to go whenever (and wherever) you are

⭐️You can push him past his limits, even out do him in the horny department, and he’ll still attempt to keep up

“Again?” You’re both breathless, cheeks red and bodies sweaty. The room reeks of sex and sweat, with the comforting mix of your perfume and his cologne. The sheets are damp with your combined fluids, a variety of them for that matter. Sweat, drool, cum… definitely a wash day tomorrow! “Yes, please. I still need you Xavier.” You’ve cum so many times you’ve lost count, poor cunt so puffy that it’s a miracle you can even feel anything down there. Still, it’s aching, throbbing with need, you need him again. “Sure, baby.” And he’s on you, a worn out smile on his lips as he showers your heated skin in wet kisses. You can — and will — go until sunrise

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel’s libido on a normal day is pretty decent, he’s down whenever you are and that’s… often

🎨It takes him some time to build his stamina… unless it’s ebb day. Lemurian heat cycles are something else.

🎨He breaks before you do, but all it takes is the off hand comment of “I’ll finish myself” and he’s ready to go

“You’re tired, Raf. I’ll just go take care of—“ tired be damned, he’s hauling his sweat slicked body up and pushing you down again. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.” His cheeks are a permanent crimson, pupils blown wide. Even if he is exhausted, his cock is still twitching at the sight of your ruined cunt. So much cum, arousal, all just leaking down your thighs. You’ve been going at it for two hours at this point, nonstop, barely a break between each round. Even if you didn’t mean too, you’re slowly training your lover to have a libido as high as yours. “It’s okay, re-really I can—shit!” He stops all complaints by shoving himself inside, one easy, slipper go. “I’m. Not. Stopping. Until you are satisfied, cutie.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at first. He’s a tad bit overwhelmed by your high libido.

🩺Give him a little time, he’ll get used to it, and slowly realize his libido is pretty high up there too… just takes a couple weeks of separation and he’s ravenous

🩺Zayne controls the situation by edging you both, keeping the game going until you’re both exhausted

“Can’t cum yet, darling. Gotta hold it in.” It’s been an hour… maybe two? Possibly three. You’re not sure, nor do you care. You have Zayne wrapped around your finger… well maybe he had you wrapped around his finger but still. “P-please, Zayne! You’ve ruined it like…shit I can’t remember… seven times? Probably more…” what’s worse than being completely denied is having your orgasm ruined. He’s brought you to the edge, pushed you over, and then stood back and watched it fizzle out. Completely unsatisfying, your poor cunt twitching for more, a real one at that. “You’re doing so good for me though, the reward will be so good if you just…” a gentle motion with his fingers and you’re jerking into him. “…wait.”

Sylus

🍒He didn’t realize that your… eagerness could rub off on him so easily… or maybe he’s always been this way.

🍒Your high libido is damn near torture, considering you’re in Linkon and he’s in the N109 Zone… you’re always tied up with work, he’s always away for business…

🍒Even then, Sylus does try and make it so your time together isn’t entirely… sex. Doesn’t it always work? No.

“I swear all we do is fuck when we see eachother…” you’re giggling as you say it, laying on top of him, chest to chest. His slowly softening cock is begin to slip out of you, the copious amounts of release following. “Because it is all we do… you’re insatiable.” Sweaty and flushed, but still smug, Sylus is twirling your hair around his fingers. “Hey!” A smack lands on his sweaty shoulder and he’s laughing. “You’re one to talk, mister.” But Sylus isn’t letting you live it down that easily. “You made me this way… nothing but a greedy soul.” And just like that, you can feel him hardening again. He studies your expression, tear stained cheeks and flushed skin. So beautiful, even as your lips part in a little “o” as he fills you up.

Caleb

🪐You thought your libido was high… till Caleb finally stopped holding his feelings back

🪐He is on cloud nine when he finds out you’re just as horny as he is 24/7

🪐He’ll travel to and from Linkon if it means getting that pussy for the night. You have zero complaints either, other than maybe the fact that you wished he didn’t live so far

“You’re going to miss… miss…. Caleb!” His hips pound into you, every time you attempt to remind him about missing his train back to Skyhaven he just thrusts harder. “Such a weird way to say that I’m fucking you so damn good, I think a thank you is in order.” He’s nearly in your stomach and he has the audacity to be sassy. You give up on trying to remind him, as if you wouldn’t call off work the next day just to keep him tied down to your bed, balls deep like you had been so boldly begging him for over text a few hours earlier. You’re going to get a noise complaint, maybe even a notice from the city since you have your windows open. The room reeked of sex after all, you needed something to clear your fogged up heads.

[ferrstappen]

my girls l dad!Lando Norris

a/n: this is pure fluff and cuteness. you can find the rest of dad Lando on my masterlist <3

summary: celebrating mother’s day with the entire family in Tulum was great, but spending time with your little family was even better.

The breeze that drifted in from the ocean was warm, almost silken, rustling through the gauzy curtains of the open balcony doors. The early morning sun was beginning to stretch over Tulum’s white-sand coastline, bathing everything in the softest, most golden light. Somewhere down the beach, waves crashed gently in a steady rhythm that felt like nature’s lullaby.

You heard the soft creak of the bedroom door and a shuffle of socked feet. Then a whisper, gentle and careful.

“Dada?” Amalia said and you could easily make up her accent, the same as Lando’s.

A rustle of sheets. A groggy hum from Lando.

“Mm. Hi, baby girl,” he mumbled as he sat up slowly. “You’re up early.”

Amalia padded closer and climbed onto the bed with surprising ease for someone still half-asleep and a body shorter than the bed, and she tugged at Lando’s shirt.

“Today’s Mama’s Day,” she whispered, excitement already brimming in her voice.

Lando leaned over and kissed her curly hair a bit knotted from sleep. “I know, my sweet baby girl. You ready to spoil her like we planned?”

She nodded fiercely, making a face of utter determination. “Pancakes,” she said simply. “And flowers, we have to hide until she wakes up.”

You stifled a laugh and kept your eyes closed, enjoying the moment.

“Operation Surprise Mama is underway,” Lando whispered dramatically to Amalia, then gave you a subtle wink, knowing full well you were already awake. “Let’s go, chef.”

Being generous, you gave them twenty minutes until something happened. They were your boyfriend and daughter, no one knew them as you.

That was about as long as it took for the unmistakable scent of something burning to waft up the stairs. You found them both in the airy kitchen, standing over a skillet, Amalia had flour on her forehead, and Lando had syrup on his shirt, looking wholly unbothered by the small mess, his boyish grin growing after seeing you entering the kitchen.

“Abort hiding mission?” he grinned, not the least bit guilty as he already knew this is how it was supposed to end. “She wanted to pour the batter. I… let her.”

“Your pancakes are safe, Mama!” Amalia said cheerfully, waving a wooden spoon like a sword. “We saved them!”

“I can see that, baby girl! They’re going to be delicious,” you said, laughing as you scooped her into your arms, careful not to get syrup or flour in your hair. “You two are the best team.”

Lando leaned down and kissed the top of your head. “Happy Mother’s Day, love.” He said it with such reverence, like the words were too small to capture everything he felt.

and they probably were.

The terrace of the private villa was already alive by mid-morning, with Cisca lounging under a wide straw hat and sipping a coffee while watching her children and grandchildren with a mix of pure pride and joy. Oli and Emily, were watching their twin girls build a sandcastle nearby, while Lando’s sisters were sprawled across sun chairs, enjoying the auntie life while chatting animatedly with their feet up.

Amalia sat proudly in your lap, holding a plate of her homemade pancakes, which were slightly singed and wildly uneven but tasted perfect because of the love behind them (or so you told yourself). Lando brought you a mimosa and kissed your temple before settling beside you, tucking Amalia’s legs over his.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured in your ear, leaving a quick kiss. “You’re glowing.”

You turned to him, a smile blooming slow. “It’s the syrup, babe. I’m sticky.”

“No,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours while laughing softly. “It’s you. You’re happy, and it looks good on you.”

You let yourself sink into the moment. Laughter, the breeze off the Mexican sea, the weight of your daughter in your lap, Lando’s hand on your knee.

It was simple. Perfection.

Later, while the rest of the family lounged under umbrellas or combed the beach for shells, you and Lando took a slow walk down the shoreline with Amalia swinging between your hands. Her laughter echoed across the sand every time she left the ground, short legs kicking.

“Again! Again!”

“You’ve got endless energy,” Lando huffed, swinging her one more time before plopping down on the sand. “That’s it. Dada needs a break.”

You laughed and sank down beside him, Amalia immediately grabbing your hand to start burying your feet in the sand.

Lando leaned back on his elbows, watching the two of you. “You know, she’s got your nose,” he said suddenly. “Same little slope.”

You glanced over. “You think so?”

“Yeah, and your laugh, I know people always say she’s my twin but… I don’t know. she’s got my appetite and chaotic brain, though, and the undying love for kinder eggs.”

You reached out and laced your fingers through his. “Best of both worlds.”

He pulled your hand to his lips and kissed it, thumb brushing your knuckles. “You made me a dad,” he said softly. “That’s still wild to me. Like I look at her, and I can’t believe she’s real sometimes.” Lando added, the memories of Amalia’s early arrival still fresh after three years.

“She’s very real,” you replied, lifting your foot to show the sand castle she’d built around it. “And very into trapping us in sand prisons.”

Amalia squealed in delight at the recognition and threw more sand on your toes, as Lando said, chaotic brain. Like father like daughter.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of soft coral and lavender over the white sand, the family moved back to the villa for dinner. Flo had organized a mini Mother’s Day dinner, complete with a banner Amalia helped decorate, which read: “WE LOVE OUR MUMMIES!” in glitter and very uneven letters.

The table was filled with laughter and stories. Oli told a wild tale about trying to change both twins in the backseat of a moving car. Cisca recalled Lando’s first attempt at making breakfast for her at age six, “the toaster caught on fire”, still to this day one of your favorite stories of him and the way his cheeks lit up while catching his upper lip with his teeth. And when Flo raised a toast “to the strongest women and the softest hearts,” Lando caught your eye across the table, his gaze melting into something that made your breath hitch, pure love and adoration.

Amalia, now fighting sleep but refusing to let go of her big girl glass of apple juice, was perched on Lando’s lap, her head resting on his chest. He swayed gently with her, humming under his breath, pressing soft kisses to her hairline between sentences and mentions of “my sweet little girl”.

“She’s gone,” he whispered to you with a soft chuckle as her eyes finally fluttered shut. “Absolutely wiped.”

“She had a big day,” you said, brushing a curl from her cheek. “She planned pancakes, after all.”

Lando laughed. “And executed with driver precision.”

You stood and leaned down to kiss Amalia’s forehead, then pressed your lips to Lando’s. “Let me take her up,” you started but he interrupted.

“No,” he said quietly, standing slowly with her still in his arms. “I’ve got her.”

He carried her upstairs with the ease of a thousand nights before this one, cradling her against his chest like she was still the newborn who cried for him in the hospital room while you were asleep.

The rest of the family didn’t even bat an eye, they’d all seen this version of Lando before; dad Lando, the soft, tender one. the dad who whispered lullabies in hotel rooms and FaceTimed from race weekends just to say goodnight.

By the time he returned to the terrace, the stars had come out. You were sitting with your legs tucked beneath you on one of the daybeds decorating the terrace, a light breeze tangling your hair. Lando sat beside you and immediately pulled you into his arms.

“She’s really out,” he murmured. “Didn’t even stir when I laid her down.”

You nestled into his side. “Thank you. For today. For everything. I know you thank me for making you a father but you have helped me become a mum, too, and she’s the best present ever. I have no idea how but we made the perfect child.” You said, eyes getting glossy while holding eye contact with Lando’s breathtaking orbs.

His chin rested atop your head. “You deserve the world,” he whispered. “But I thought pancakes and a glitter banner might be a good start.”

You tilted your head back to look at him. “You make everything feel easy.”

He smiled. “You made me a dad. I’m just trying to keep up with how incredible you are.”

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and sweet. The kind of kiss that said: I’d choose you a thousand times.

That night, Lando posted some photos from the trip to his jpg. account. you asleep in the hammock with Amalia curled into your chest, the morning pancakes, the tree of you during dinner, him carrying her to bed.

my girls. happy mother’s day to the love of my life and the most incredible mum to our sweet baby girl. She’s everything because of you.

@user1: this is actually illegal levels of cuteness

@user2: he’s a dad who carries her to bed and makes her pancakes. I’m sobbing

@user3: the way he says “my girls” like it’s the whole world to him

@user4: he was made for this soft family life I SWEAR

@user5: more Lando dad content PLEASE. this is healing me

Lando replied to one:

@user6: You look so proud of them.

@lando. I am, every day. My sweet baby girl and the woman who gave her to me.

And in the quiet corners of a Tulum night, under starlit skies and the hush of ocean waves, Lando curled into bed beside you and whispered, “Best day ever,” into the crook of your neck.

Because it didn’t matter where he was in the world, home was always wherever you and Amalia were.

[malsmind]

Inexperienced reader and inexperienced Matt have sex for the first time

make it last

𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

contains ➛ ★ unprotected sex ★ first times ★ pet names ★ praising ★ orgasm denial (kind of) ★ creampie ★

you don’t really know how it starts. maybe with his mouth, maybe with the way he looks at you like there’s no one else on earth. it’s slow, whatever it is. his hands are gentle, like he’s scared to break something, like you’re made of glass and he’s still learning how to hold things right.

his mouth is on yours, warm and a little shaky. he kisses you like he’s scared he’s going to mess this up but refuses to stop anyway. like he needs it too much. you’re not sure what you’re doing either, but with him, it doesn’t feel like you need to. it just happens. soft mouths, shy touches, his hands sliding under your shirt like it’s sacred. like you are.

“is this okay?” he asks, over and over, and it’s not annoying. it’s sweet. it’s him. it makes your chest ache how much he wants this to be right, how badly he wants you to be okay. you nod, and whisper something close to yes, please, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

clothes go missing. slowly. hesitantly. like you’re both afraid you’ll get cold without them, but neither of you wants to stop. his hands tremble a little when he touches you, but not because he’s unsure—because he’s trying so hard to do everything right. he kisses every inch of you like he needs to memorize it. like he’ll be tested on it later and he wants an a. when he finally lines himself up, he pauses, forehead resting against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“you tell me if anything hurts, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice low, tight, nearly breaking. “seriously. anything.”

you nod again. your fingers tighten on his arms. he’s being so careful, so slow, like the world might crack open if he moves too fast. it’s new, and a little strange, but not scary—not with him. not when he’s looking at you like that. not when he’s kissing your jaw and whispering, “you’re doing so good. you feel—fuck, you feel so good.”

he moves slowly at first. painfully slow. like he’s trying to stretch time, trying to savor it even as his hips tremble and he keeps letting out little, choked sounds in your ear. like it’s taking everything in him not to fall apart right there.

“‘m not gonna last,” he groans, forehead pressing into your neck, voice almost desperate. “shit—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“don’t,” you whisper, breathless. “please. not yet. m’ not close yet.”

his hand fists in the sheets next to your head. he’s biting his lip so hard it might split open. he kisses you to keep himself grounded, to hold back, and somehow it makes it worse for him. his whole body’s tight. desperate. but he holds on for you. he holds on even when his hips stutter, even when he has to stop moving for a second and just breathe. you’re getting closer now, can feel it building low and slow in your stomach. you kiss his jaw, whisper his name, maybe beg a little, and that’s what breaks him. his voice cracks as he moans, tries to hold still, but he’s shaking too hard now.

“i can’t—i—fuck-“ matt whimpers, breath trembling, arms shaking on each side of your head.

“it’s okay—you can cum.” you whisper. equally as shaky as him.

he spills into you with a gasp, body trembling, teeth gritted like he’s trying to fight it, even now. and then it’s your turn. not even a second later, you’re arching into him, breath caught in your throat as everything falls away. your hands grip his shoulders, fingernails pressing little half-moon marks into his skin. he’s still murmuring to you, even while trying to catch his breath.

“you were perfect,” he says, forehead still against yours, eyes closed. “you’re so perfect. fuck.”

you don’t say anything. just keep your arms around him, breathing him in. it was new. it was awkward. and it was easy. because it was him.

because it was you and him.

© 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

[bunnipuffs]

୨୧ cw. dark! abby, manipulative behaviour, violent imagery, oral sex

helplessly devoted to you !

when abby and her group had found you, you were surrounded by a dozen bodies. their faces unrecognizable at a glance, smashed in and beaten bloody by some sort of heavy weapon—the one you were seen holding, tight in your grip, your knuckles turning white from the force. your features were completely covered with a dark crimson, dripping down your neck and slowly inking your clothes. they had guns pointed to your head, held high, their fingers laying on the trigger with the intention to kill. you just stared. if they had killed you, nothing would change. there was nothing here for you anymore.

but they didn't. they asked you a bunch of questions instead. who you were with, what happened, why you did what you did, all the questions you'd expect to be asked if you came across a human being in this fungal infected world. you haven't seen anyone in weeks, and the ones you first encountered after that time were laying beneath you, brains scattered along the concrete. this was the first normal conversation you've had in a while.

they take you back to their settlement after securing the area, taking your weapons and backpack. you walked in front of them, slow, observing your surroundings as you dragged your feet over the dirt path. the only person who stood next to you was a woman. tall, big arms, hair braided, and holding a shotgun. you blinked at the metal glistening in the warm sun, wondering if she would use it on you at some point. maybe she took it the wrong way, your staring, because she looks down at you and scoffs.

"don't get any funny ideas, i won't hesitate." you meet her stare, a smile spreading across your lips. not friendly or menacing, but you smile at her. "i wouldn't. i have nothing to lose." she doesn't say anything after that, keeping her gaze ahead. you don't say anything either.

it's been months since then, you've grown to feel like you belong in the WLF, abby's group. it took you a long time to get here though—you avoided eating with others in the cafeteria, stayed in your room whenever you could, flicking your pocket knife in boredom. you were wary. how did they have this much people here? and why did it feel so normal? it didn't feel right to you, and no matter how many times people showed you kindness, you retreated back to your tiny twin bed, curled up in a fetal position. but it wasn't like that now. you were a valued member, always accompanying abby with patrols, clearing out buildings together, and even shared a room with her now at abby's request.

abby had taken a liking to you the moment she saw you that day. your face covered in blood, a familiar expression on your face. like you had no remorse for what you had done, the dead bodies in front of you an ordinary occasion. she knew you had potential, and after seeing what you were capable of, she needed you. not just as more manpower for the WLF, but for her, to take care of and nurture. you were perfect in her eyes. the blood sliding down your fingers, pooling underneath your feet. you were beautiful.

you weren't like the others—so quiet and reserved, only showing yourself for abby. you were alone together most of the time, reading the hundreds of books abby had collected, talking about everything and nothing at once. you were closer to her than you were with anyone else, and you liked it that way. you trusted her. she knew that you had always been alone since you got here, and she vowed to stand by you for the rest of her life. you would do the same.

"you know what makes me laugh sometimes?" you whisper, under the moonlight and your blankets. abby mumbles a sleepy, "what?" above you, her bunk making it a little difficult to hear. "you said you wouldn't hesitate to shoot me, remember that?" your laugh is contagious, sweet, it makes abby smile. "yeah, i do. you were looking at me.. weird." that makes you giggle even more, quietly, looking up at the wooden planks holding abby's bed. it felt more intimate this way, knowing she couldn't see you stare. "i wasn't! i was just thinking... if you'd ever use it on me, i mean, i looked a little crazy that day." you hear a hum, a shuffle of sheets and abby's voice. "i would kill for you." your heart skips a beat, in fear or happiness, you don't know, but your question comes out small, gentle. "you mean that?" it's quiet now, you haven't stopped staring up at abby's bunk. you can feel your heart slamming against your chest. "i don't think you know how much i'd do for you."

the next day rolls around as quickly as the night left, abby's words still lingering in your head. you're set to go on patrol with abby and someone else, a man named jordan—much to abby's dismay, owen had forced her to bring another person for the area you'd be running through. it was overrun by runners and a few clickers, dangerous, but you knew with another you'd be able to handle it. you say goodbye to your friends before setting off.

it happens so fast, everything. one minute you had it in control, taking out a few runners and keeping up your quiet steps as everyone progressed. but there were more of them than owen mentioned, more clickers and a fucking bloater—you were too loud, boots crunching piles of glass. you were behind abby all of a sudden, gun clenched in your hands and aiming at the runners dashing towards you. gunshots rang through the air while jordan picked off clickers that got too close, shooting at the bloater inching closer and closer, you could see the fear on his face too. your breaths were coming in too fast, panic filling your chest, looking for an out as quickly as possible. you spot a door not too far from where you stood, the door agape and welcoming. "over here! now!" you yelled as loud as possible, tugging abby towards you and ushering jordan to follow. you're the first to get in, abby behind you, jordan pushing the door closed with everything in him—you come up next to him, shoulder to the wood, pressing against it with your body strength. it's impossible, there's too many and they're forcing it open faster than you're both closing it. abby is just staring, hand on her pistol. "what the fuck, abby? come on! help us-"

you blink, and abby's tugging at your shirt and throwing you to the ground, her hand finding jordan's back and shoving him into the pack of runners, blood curdling screams filling the air, the sound of crunching and blood splattering across the walls. you're screaming too, or you're not, you can't tell anymore—but abby slams the door shut, pushing a metal drawer in front of the door. you can hear the violent pounding of hands against the wood, heavy thumps ringing in your ears. tears are pooling in your eyes. abby turns around, small splashes of blood on her cheeks. you crawl away from her, fear crawling up your body. "why would you do that? we could've.. he could've..."

abby is walking towards you in big steps, kneeling down right next to you. she holds your face in her big hands, warm and unfamiliar. you know the face in front of you, but it doesn't feel like her. your thighs are trembling. "no, he couldn't have, you would've died if i didn't do it—i promise, i've got you, okay? you have me-" you're shaking your head, blinking away tears. "i did what was best for you, okay? you would've died." you shakily inhale, chest rising and falling with your harsh breaths. she's rubbing at your back, pulling you close to her chest and wrapping her arms around you. "i've got you, all you need is me, i promise, i'll keep you safe." your head is buried in abby's neck, your mind spinning with what she had told you last night—"i don't think you know how much i'd do for you."

you thought more about what abby had done when you both got back. spending late nights under your covers wide awake, the person you slept in the same room with had killed someone in front of you, for you—maybe not from shooting them or stabbing them, but she sent him to the most painful death he could’ve had. the disgusting stretch of flesh ripping from his neck, his face, remembering the pool of blood seeping in under the door. it was horrible, scary, and you can’t ever forget it. the screams echoing outside of your safe haven, one you felt you didn’t deserve, while abby wiped you off and made sure you were okay. if you were going to die, then you should have. the world isn’t forgiving. people can’t escape death, it would just come after that. more unrelenting and less merciful than the first. it would come for you, too.

but a part of you felt good, and you’d never admit it, to yourself or anyone else—the fact that abby had cared for you this much, sacrificing someone for your sake, made that part of you that felt so alone, so loved. you were used to fending for yourself. killing others to keep yourself alive, walking aimlessly across empty roads and used to the painful blisters on your feet, anxious that someone would jump out and murder you, so you always kept yourself moving. it was sick, abby was sick, and maybe you were corrupted too. because for the first time ever, you didn’t have to worry. abby proved it, she would keep you safe.

days fly by after that, a burial service for jordan back at home, abby stands next to you the whole time. she watches you closely, makes sure you hadn't told anyone about what happened. she keeps telling you that she did it for you, and that there was no way the both of you could've survived if she didn't do it. "i need you to be safe, okay?" you nod, quiet, not refusing or fighting back. sometimes at night you can feel her sit next to you while you slept, brushing loose hair out of your face. you felt strange every time her fingers touched your skin, burning, a reminder of what those hands had done to another person. you think maybe you’re worse, because you felt cared for. a feeling you haven't had since the world flipped upside down. and so you take it. "i understand abby, thank you." she smiles at you, so lovingly, her hand caressing your face. “i knew you would.”

owen decides to host a little get together for everyone a few weeks later, especially after what had happened, a way to blow off steam and relax. you're sitting next to abby and a few others, drinks in hand and smiles on everyone's faces. you're gulping down your drink when mel suddenly speaks, "you and abby are quite close, huh?" a string of "oooh's" following. abby just huffs, “yeah, we are.” mel nods, “you guys should kiss or something.” your eyes are widening at her words, head whipping toward abby—you don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but her cheeks are flushed, eyes glued to the drink in her hand. everyone else is chanting an immature, "kiss! kiss! kiss!" you can feel your face heating up the more they say it. maybe you should just get it over with, you think, if everyone’s so eager for it. you’re placing your cup down before leaning in, hands around abby’s face. you’re kissing her, a small peck, but abby goes in for more, kissing you deeply—she’s licking at your bottom lip before owen clears his throat, an awkward stare. “guys, maybe you should take it somewhere else.”

you're smiling sheepishly at the others, thankfully everyone else was drunker, off in conversation with someone else to dwell on what happened. you glance back at abby and she's looking at you like you hung the stars, a dopey smile on her face. "should we go?" you're nodding at her, letting her take your hand and off to your room.

abby is pushing you into your shared room, pushing you up against the door. she's kissing you hungrily, tongue swiping against your lips—you're moaning in her mouth at the wet muscle gliding along your own, hands gripping at abby's biceps. her hands move to your chest, smoothing over your tits. "tell me you need me, say it." she's out of breath, her mouth moving down to your neck, biting and licking. "i need you, abby." she groans at your words, your sweet voice so pretty in her ears. she pulls your shirt over your head, pushing up your bra and latching onto your nipple, licking circles around the bud. “abby! ah,” you feel so warm, so alive from the attention abby is giving your body, worshipping you like a god. she licks down all the way to your stomach, kneeling down in front of you, tugging off your pants. she stares at you for a minute, looking up at your face. your eyes are closed, a little embarrassed by how bare you are compared to her being fully clothed.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed, you’re perfect, look at you.”

abby’s rubbing your thighs gently, pressing kisses all over them. she mutters a “so beautiful,” against your skin, moving to your cunt. abby pulls your panties to the side, tongue finding your slick folds. she’s licking and pressing kisses all over you, her warm wet mouth sending shivers down your spine—it feels so good, her hands, her lips against your heat, you could bathe in this feeling forever. “i’m the only one who’s ever going to make you feel like this, you hear me?” the vibration of her voice makes you twitch, nodding eagerly. “yes, abby, just you—ah, please!” she’s smiling, tongue abusing your clit. she flicks it up and down, fingers coming to rub at your gushing hole. you can’t stop moaning, it’s too much, and abby doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon. she’s licking messily, making sure to coat you in her, claiming you as hers. your vision goes blurry when you come, so sudden, a violent shiver at your release. you’re screaming her name when she comes back up, kissing you again and again, tasting yourself on her tongue.

“i’m not done with you yet, i promise.”

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Mr. Ring-a-Ding x Reader - Chapter 1

Oh boy me and my poor impulse control again. I do plan on continuing this but it'll be more of a side project until I finish one of the fics I'm actively posting on ao3 atm. But have it anyway, cuz why not.

Reader will be gender-neutral, but a lot of Ring-a-Ding's nicknames will lean to what a lot of people would consider feminine. Doll, Sweetiepie, etc, and the word pretty will probably be used in later chapters. I mean all of this CAN be gender-neutral but if it's not your cup of tea please handle with care. :) Chapter 1 - Palazzo

The light of creation…

Lux had been everything, and yet nothing. It had lasted an eternity, yet had been over in a second. Eventually, he meets the fate that all immortal gods meet after achieving their machinations.

Boredom.

Boredom, boredom, boredom. The one true enemy of all immortals. Sure, sometimes they’ll play dead or sulk in some other realm for a time and let the mortals think they’ve won. Sometimes their power is so depleted it’s even necessary to do so, but those are temporary setbacks. In reality, the only real threat to those with infinite time is running out of things to fill it with.

So what to do?

He’ll have to start small, obviously. Nothing that would be worth recording, nothing that would become legend. Little more than a warm up--a simple dalliance.

He’ll start at the last place he’d been, in the only form he’s ever taken. The familiar is simple and as good a starting point as any for his little excursion.

Slowly, he gathers himself, pulling himself back to a singular point in space and time--where and when the Palazzo next plays the Mr. Ring-a-Ding reel.

Back to Miami, back to the Palazzo…and back to being Mr. Ring-a-Ding.

*

Cleaning out the projection booth isn’t supposed to be part of your job. Yet here you are, sweeping the dirt and grime that’s piled up after 73 years of the theater being abandoned. At least it’s winter, and a fairly cool winter at that, making the inside of the unairconditioned theater “muggy” rather than “unbearably hot and stuffy”.

The power itself is on, so there’s some lighting, though the majority of the light bulbs have long since burned out, leaving the place fairly dark, especially now that the sun has set.

You’ve been told to try to salvage whatever old equipment or “antiques” you might find. Your boss has even offered to split any proceeds 70/30 in your favor--your his “magnanimous” way of compensating you for the extra responsibilities.

Never mind that hauling the equipment, restoring it, and finding a buyer would probably be a part-time job in and of itself…one which, like your current job, won’t pay much, especially after the split.

But you can’t turn up your nose at it, either. So you go through the old books, papers, and machinery that lay scattered on the floors and shelves. Whatever antiques may have been worth anything probably are too ruined to sell at this point. The massive hole in the side of the building from the film closet exploding all those years ago had never been repaired, so the theater hadn’t exactly been shielded from the elements. Even the door to the projection room had eventually rotted and fallen away, leaving the room open to critters and even more dirt and leaves and detritus carried in by the wind.

You guess the projectors themselves are the only thing in the room that may be worth the effort of hauling anywhere but the dumpster. But they’re so covered in dirt and grime you can’t imagine that any of the interior mechanisms could possibly work.

…Do collectors of antique projectors even care if said projectors actually work? You suppose you’ll have to research that later. In any case, you’re sure anything worth anything would have been stolen by looters long ago.

So far you’ve been more focused on clearing away the obvious trash to clear a path to the projectors. Sweeping dirt, mud, and leaves off the floor, then clearing the broken bits of wood from the rotted shelves and what you guess used to be some kind of desk. Finally, there’s space to stand alongside the projectors so you can look them over.

They’re covered in grime, of course, but as you begin to wipe that away, you see they actually look to be in decent shape beneath it all. No sign of rusting or warping on the metal casing, which is surprising. You’d half expected the old things to go to pieces as soon as you’d touched them, but it seems--like a lot of old tech--they’re built fairly sturdy.

Though that doesn’t mean their inner workings are still operational, you remind yourself.

As you move to the second projector, your brow knits as you notice something.

There’s still a roll of film loaded into it. That’s not so surprising on its own--from what you’ve heard this place had been abandoned pretty hastily back in the 50s--but what is odd is just how pristine the celluloid looks.

The bits you’d found scattered about while cleaning had been dirty, crumpled and curled from age, and trying to load it into a projector would have just made it fall apart.

But the roll in the projector now looks brand new. You adjust your glasses, leaning close and squinting. It looks like a cartoon, but the images are too small and the room too dim for you to tell much more than that.

An old reel like this might be worth something if it’s still playable. Maybe it’s even a piece of lost media? Though you doubt you’d be so lucky. You push your glasses back into place, trying to find the mechanism to unload the reel. Your hand brushes a switch on the back of the machine, and despite you barely touching it, the projector suddenly springs to life.

The light flickers on and you hear the familiar whirring and clicking of the old film projector starting up.

You glance to the theater below, where an odd image is displayed on the tattered remains of the movie screen.

Some kind of cartoon character, a blue-skinned bug with a pig-like nose and straw boater hat, grinning widely. The title card which follows reads: “Mr. Ring-a-Ding Goes to Town!”

Not a character or show you’re familiar with, and you like to think you’re pretty versed in old cartoons.

“Oh it’s such a beautiful day! I think I’ll go to town! Yes sirree!” the titular character says as he strolls down the road with the sort of jauntiness that can only be captured by old rubber hose animations.

You only watch for a moment before turning your gaze back to the projector. As much as you’re curious about this old cartoon you’ve found, you don’t want to risk potentially damaging the film. So you’d rather get the reel out and back into its case before something goes wrong.

You have no idea how you even turned the projector on. After a moment of searching, you find a labeled ON/OFF switch and press it.

Nothing happens. The film keeps rolling.

“...What did I just turn off, then?” you mumble to yourself. After a moment of searching, your eyes happen to drift back to the screen, and you do a double take.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding is gone. The camera’s just holding on an empty shot, showing only the pathway and the sign pointing to town. It looks like the show’s been paused, but the film’s still rolling.

Why had the cartoon hung on this long shot of the background? Some kind of joke you’d missed the setup for?

As you’re staring, the projector abruptly switches off…despite the reel not having ended. You glance sharply at it, wincing. It’d be just your luck if you find a working pre-1950’s projector and film reel only to immediately break it…

Before you can think too much on that, though, you hear a rustle of fabric from the theater, and peering through the darkness, you see the heavy curtains that cover the screen are being pulled shut.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer.

You quickly leave the projection room, jogging down the short hallway and entering the back of the theater. “Hello?” you call again. “Brent? Brent, is that you?” you ask, guessing--and hoping-- your boss had come by to check on your progress for some reason.

You keep your gaze on the closed curtain, slowly walking down the stairs of the center aisle towards it. The few lights that are on are mostly towards the back, leaving the front of the theater fairly dark.

You’re just reaching the third row of seats and getting ready to call out again when the curtains suddenly fly open.

“TADAAAA!!!” shouts none other than Mr. Ring-a-Ding himself.

You scream, scrambling back, your heel catching on one of the steps and causing you to fall on hard on your rear.

Ring-a-Ding laughs, though it’s not a particularly mean-spirited laugh. “Whoopsie daisy! That’s why we don’t walk backwards on stairs!” he says with a teasing wink.

“W-W-Who are you?” you stammer out, your eyes wide.

He smirks. “Glad you asked, my dear!” A jaunty tune begins playing out of nowhere, and Mr. Ring-a-Ding begins a lively dance. “I’m Mr. Ring-a-Ding, I’ll make your heart bells sing!”

Your mouth hangs open even further as you simply stare at him, agape, as he sings. And sings. And sings. For well over a minute, which may not be that long as songs go but is certainly a long time for him to sing and dance unprompted while you can only stare on in shock.

“I’m Mr. Ring-a-Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” he belts out the last line, taking off his hat and spreading his arms wide.

You can’t even begin to muster a response.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding chuckles, placing his hat back on his head. “Y’know, usually I get interrupted before I finish the song,” he says.

You make a vague, strangled noise that sounds like a distant, “Uh-huh…?”

He lets half a beat pass before shaking his head, his grin never leaving his face. “Yannow, this is usually the part where you’d introduce yourself. Buuuuut if you ain’t got a song prepared you can just say your name.”

After a brief hesitation, you manage to stammer out your name. Your eyes haven’t gotten any less wide, and you haven’t been able to stop staring at the cartoon man before you.

“Who…are you?” you ask again.

He quirks a brow, smirking playfully. “Oh come now! I just sang about that for a full minute and a full thirty-six seconds! Don’t tell me ya need all that repeated?” he teases.

“Erm--ah, no…” you say. You lean forward, managing to pull yourself to your feet and begin slowly walking towards him.

He seems unphased, grinning up at you innocently as you approach. You stop when you reach the bottom step, standing in front of the stage…barely an arm’s length from the odd creature atop it.

“You’re…a cartoon…”

“Yes indeedy-do!” he chirps.

“D-Did…you just…come out of that film?”

He smirks, waggling a finger at you. “Don’t make me laugh!”

You blink. “Is…that a funny question?” you ask blankly.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he repeats.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I must be going insane.” Not exactly a surprising result, given what Brent has been putting you through, but you hadn’t expected it to manifest quite like this.

“Naaah!” he says with a flick of his wrist. “You seem perfectly sane to me. I’m perfectly real, after all!” he says cheerfully.

You can’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s just what a hallucination would say…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding snorts. “Well, alright, doll…ya got me there. Buuuut…is it not also what a real cartoon brought to life would say?”

One corner of your mouth ticks upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “You uh…you got me there,” you say, borrowing his phrasing.

His grin actually seems more genuine for a moment, a bit more warm than his somewhat teasing smirk.

“You’re…really real, then?” you ask. Slowly you reach out towards him with one hand.

He raises a brow, and for the first time his smile falters. Only for a moment, though. His grin returns as he lightly pushes your hand aside with one finger. “Not sure what I can say to that that ain’t already been said,” he chuckles.

“F-Fair…” you say, taking the hint and lowering your hand. Him moving your hand aside has already proven that he’s solid…or that your hallucination includes touch in addition to sight and sound.

He steps forward, hopping down from the stage. You take a step back, watching as he walks around you and up the stairs.

“Well this place has sure seen better days, huh?” he says, looking up at the deteriorating building. His gaze pauses on the hole in the ceiling. A blue tarp is pulled tightly over it, keeping out some of the elements until the construction crew arrives to patch it.

“Heh. Not in my lifetime,” you say wryly.

“Oh no?” he asks casually, turning to glance back at you.

“It’s been closed for over 70 years now,” you say.

“Oh?” he asks again, continuing to walk up the stairs, his gaze turned upwards as he takes in the state of the theater. “Don’t suppose you know why?”

If you weren’t so flustered, you may have noticed the lack of surprise in his tone��maybe even the underlying coyness. But as it is, you simply take the question at face value.

“A fire in the film closet caused an explosion. That’s why there’s that hole up there,” you say, nodding towards the tarp.

He follows your gaze, humming in thought. “Oh, is that all?” he asks, glancing at you sideways.

This time you do notice the coyness in his tone, but you think he’s simply trying to be funny.

“I think there was some other drama around it,” you say. “I did a bit of research before coming out here…but it’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s just urban legends these days. But it sounds like there was some kind of hostage situation, and that’s what led to the explosion. No casualties though, from the sounds of it.”

Mr. Ring-a-ding chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief!” he says, managing to sound genuine, though not particularly invested. “And where’s good ol’ Mr. Pye these days?”

“Who?” you ask blankly, following him up the stairs towards the projection booth.

“Reginald Pye. The projectionist,” he says simply, not bothering to glance back at you.

“The--?” You cut yourself off. “Uh, abandoned theaters don’t have projectionists,” you say, with a weak laugh…not thinking about why he may be asking after the former employee.

He stops, spinning on his heel to face you. “Well of course they don’t, you silly billy!” he says, waggling his finger at you. “That’s why I asked where he is, because he’s obviously not here!”

You open your mouth to speak, then quickly close it again, your brow knitting in sympathy. “I-It’s…been 70 years…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding cants his head, grinning up at you. “So you’ve said,” he says blithely, clearly having no idea why the point bore repeating.

…Does he really have no idea?

“How…old was he? Mr. Pye?”

“Dunno. Kinda old I guess. Why?” he asks. He doesn’t seem to be understanding the significance of your questions.

You find yourself wondering if a living cartoon even knows what death is. You chew your lip, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’sa matter, sweetie pie? Cat got your tongue?” he asks playfully.

You sigh, rubbing your arm as you finally meet his gaze. “Seventy years is…a long time for humans. I-It’s…rare for humans to live past a hundred. A hundred-twenty at most.”

His smile freezes in place as he stares at you in silence for a moment before simply saying, “Ah.”

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say quietly. You crouch down in front of him and are about to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, when he steps back, waving a hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he says, a bit more forcefully than he’d said it before.

You pull back, your eyes widening at the seemingly heartless response. Mr. Ring-a-Ding turns on his heel and resumes his march up the stairs while you slowly get to your feet, stunned.

Is he really that callous, or does he just…not understand the situation? You have no idea what kind of show Mr. Ring-a-Ding had been. Many cartoons from that time never mentioned death, and the ones that did…well, they had a fairly…irreverent attitude about it. So it’s not much of a stretch to imagine a 1930’s cartoon brought to life, would be wholly unequipped to deal with it.

…No more a stretch than “1930’s cartoon brought to life” is to begin with, anyway.

He’s nearly at the top of the stairs by the time you begin trotting after him.

*

Lux leaves you behind without a second thought, making his way into the projection booth. The two projectors are still there, a bit dirty but otherwise the same as he remembers them. Objects wielded by the gods tended to withstand the passage of time remarkably well, after all.

Objects…but not mortals. Not humans. The difference between a year and century is nothing to a god…but apparently it’s everything to a human.

Lux has no heart, but he feels an unpleasant sensation in a place very similar.

He doesn’t like it.

He wanders over to the pile of rubbish and broken wood that had once been Reginald’s desk. Of course, there’s nothing of significance there. Not anymore. Reginald would have taken any pictures of himself or Helen when he’d left. Lux knows that much.

Lux is aware of you entering the room behind him, but doesn’t pay you any mind as he moves to the projection window, hopping up onto the edge of one of the projectors to look out the small window into the theater. Where he’d spent so long watching Reginald and Helen dancing together.

There’d been something compelling about it. Almost more compelling than light itself. Lux had never understood his own fascination with it, but also hadn’t really cared to think too much on it.

As he’s staring down at the empty house, you finally speak.

“Was he…a friend of yours? Mr. Pye?” you ask gently.

Lux tears his gaze away from the window to look at you curiously. He’s not sure how to answer. Gods aren’t friends with mortals. They’re barely friends with each other most of the time. Pye had been a disciple, a minion, a servant.

Yet Lux doesn’t want to speak any of those words aloud. He tells himself it’s because you’d react poorly to them. While he’s not convinced he has any use for you, he’s not so unconvinced that he wants to drive you off over something trivial.

So, he dips his head in a nod, returning his gaze to the ruined theater. “Something like that,” he says, his voice flatter and more gravely than the upbeat, chipper tone he’d used before.

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say again. “D’you…have anywhere to go?”

“Don’t need to go anywhere,” he says shortly. Maybe he should have just endured the boredom for another millennium or two to recover his strength…then maybe he could muster the power to do something actually interesting. He assumes the conversation is over and is almost ready to simply return to light when you speak again.

“Well, you can’t stay here!”

Lux’s eyes flash yellow for the briefest of seconds and he turns sharply to face you, incredulous at your impudence. A human, a mere human, not even a particularly powerful one, telling a god where he can and can’t go?!

He’s about to banish you into celluloid for your insolence when he processes your expression.

Your brow is upturned, your eyes filled with worry as you clutch your hands together fretfully.

It hadn’t been an order. You’re not demanding he leave. You’re worried what’ll happen if he stays.

It occurs to Lux that his entrance hadn’t been as grand this time. A silly little fellow popping out from behind a curtain--not a giant creature emerging from the screen before banishing fifteen people to film.

You have no idea what he is. Well, that had been true of all the humans back then, too, but they had at least understood he was an immeasurably powerful being--something to be feared.

But you don’t think that. You clearly think he’s far more helpless than he is. Do you even realize he’s immortal? Surely not, if you’re fretting about him squatting in some old building. Do you imagine that he’s capable of being hungry? Sick? Cold? Like some feeble little mortal?

Most gods would be insulted at such a notion and would be quick to put you in your place…but Lux finds the idea…interesting. A mortal who doesn’t fear him. Who asks nothing of him. Who thinks he needs them.

That last part is particularly amusing to Lux…He supposes he had been in the mood for a bit of a dalliance, and it seems one has presented itself.

His irate expression softens, and turns his brow up in a tired, melancholy expression. “But…I got nowhere else to go.”

Lux makes sure not to lay it on too thick. He’d made that mistake with the Doctor, though he hadn’t really expected to be able to fool a Time Lord for all that long regardless. So he hadn’t exactly bothered to bring his A game to that bit of deception.

You move to stand beside him, leaning against the wall beside the window. “Well…maybe, you could stay with me?”

The surprise on his face isn’t entirely feigned. That had been easier than he’d thought…Not that he needs to stay with you, or anywhere in particular of course. The grin that spreads across his face is also mostly genuine.

“Oh, gee willikers! You’d let me do that?” he says, keeping his tone suitably modest as his smile turns ever so slightly shy.

“Well, I don’t want to leave you alone in an abandoned theater all night…” you say with a small smile. You frown, tapping your chin in thought. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to get you back to my apartment without anyone seeing you…”

Lux chuckles. “Mmm, I can draw quite a crowd,” he agrees with a wink.

“Yes, I’d imagine,” you laugh, glad he at least understands the potential consequences of just taking off down the street on his own. “Hm, what time is it, anyway? Maybe the streets won’t be too crowded…” you muse.

You pull some kind of electronic device out of your pocket, pushing a button on the side of it. Suddenly the room is lit up with a blinding white light.

“Gah!” you yelp, covering your eyes and touching something on the screen to dim the glow. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to flashbang you,” you say to him with a sheepish chuckle.

Lux is hardly phased of course, but he can tell by your rapid blinking that you’ve utterly destroyed the night vision you’d been building up in the darkened theater. “Quite alright! Seems you got the worst of it,” he says good-naturedly. “But what is that, exactly?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Oh, it’s my--Well, it’s called a phone but it’s…probably much different than any phones you’d’ve seen in the fifties,” you say, holding it out for him to look at.

“Hmm…” he hums. He places his hands on either side of the phone, turning the screen towards himself slightly to examine it. He knows more or less what it is, of course. While he’s not familiar with this exact bit of tech, many, many civilizations have similar devices. Glowing, lit up screens or holograms, connecting everyone to everywhere, millenia’s worth of information at the push of a button.

Well, maybe not millenia on this one. Not yet. It’s still fairly primitive as far as most displays go, and he doubts the signal could even reach the Earth’s moon, much less another galaxy.

Though he’s glad for your unintentional reminder that someone who only knows the Earth of 70 years ago ought to be impressed by this clunky old tech.

“Oh goodness!” he gasps eagerly, doing a suitable job of pretending this is by far the most advanced piece of tech he’d ever seen. “My my my, what a tiny little screen!” he says. He pokes part of the screen, pretending to be startled when one of your apps opens.

“It even plays videos,” you say, tapping the YouTube app and letting a random video from the recommended list autoplay.

“Golly, how clever!” he pretends to marvel. “Say, that gives me an idea…”

It doesn’t, really, but it presents a good segue to the idea he’d had the moment you pulled out the device.

While you hold the phone, he presses one of his hands against the screen. Even at his small size, his hand is still bigger than the screen, but as he pushes his hand flattens and shrinks, becoming an image on the screen.

Your eyes widen in surprise as he leans forward, and soon all of him has disappeared into the phone.

He grins at your sputtering noise of shock. Humans are always so stunned at the most innocuous things.

You turn the phone around, and see him standing in front of your app icons and desktop background, which is a stylized picture of a starry night sky, complete with blue and purple nebula-clouds.

“Mind clearing a bit of space, honey?” he asks, leaning against the edge of the screen and pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Oh, s-sure, hang on,” you say. You swipe the screen slowly, making sure moving the desktop icons doesn’t fling him offscreen as well. Once you’re sure it won’t, you swipe past a few screens until you’re at a blank page on your desktop.

“Much obliged!” he says, tipping his hat. He turns around, whistling appreciatively at the background. “Shame to be blocking this lovely view!”

“Heh…right…” you say. “A-Are you um…sure you’re okay in there?”

“Of course!”

“My apartment’s about a half hour walk away, is that alright?”

“Certainly! Take all the time ya need!” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the screen, turning away to look up at the stars.

“Right,” you say, carefully setting the phone down so you can sling your backpack over your shoulders. You carefully pick up the phone, moving it carefully as if you’re balancing something delicate atop the screen. “I’m not gonna jostle you too much moving around, am I?”

Lux has to resist the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. Just how fragile do you think he is? Though at the same time…it’s not exactly difficult to pretend he’s moved by your concern as he turns around, flashing a brash grin.

“Aw shucks, sweetie pie!” he says, waving a hand. “I’m tougher than I look! I can handle myself just fine, even on a little screen like this!” he declares, puffing out his chest proudly.

You laugh, and he’s a bit surprised at the warmth in it. “Alright then. Just uh…let me know if it’s too bumpy, alright?”

“Sure thing!” he says, turning back to face the starry background, ending the conversation for now.

*

You don’t mind the quiet walk. It gives you time to process.

A living cartoon. He just came out of the theater screen, then put himself into your phone, and now he’s crashing at your place for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time.

Your curiosity at how he can even exist and how he works has been quickly overshadowed by worries about his mental state. You suspect he’s grieving his friend, even if he’s reluctant to show it. He’s from the 50’s after all--not exactly a time rife with emotional vulnerability, especially in men.

From what you’ve pieced together, he’s a living cartoon who had been friends with the theater’s projectionist in the 50’s. Somehow after the theater was abandoned he’d…gone dormant?  Or something? You’re not sure how that works yet but what you are sure of is that the poor guy has been essentially flung forward 70 years into a world he likely no longer recognizes.

You reach your apartment building and climb up the stairs to your studio apartment. “It’s a bit cramped…” you warn him.

“I’m sure I can make do,” he says easily. “Two-dimensional characters don’t take up much space, after all,” he winks.

“I suppose,” you say, locking the door behind you. “You can come out--”

You’ve barely finished the sentence when he pushes against the screen, his whole upper half emerging almost instantly, bringing his face so close that your noses almost touch as he grins widely at you.

You squeak in surprise, your cheeks burning as you drop the phone. To your relief, he hops out the rest of the way before it hits the ground, gracefully floating to the floor while your phone thuds on the rug next to him.

“A-Are you alright?” you say in alarm, kneeling in front of him.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding steps back with a sheepish chuckle, picking up your phone for you. “Oh, perfectly fine! Didn’t mean ta startle ya!” he says playfully. He checks over your phone, whistling in surprise at the weight of your heavy phone case. “This thing’s got some heft! Why’s it armored up like it’s going to war?” he asks as he passes it back to you.

You grin wryly at him. “In case someone jumps out at me.”

He raises his brows, his smirk showing some appreciation for the quip.

You get to your feet, flipping on the main light. As promised, it is indeed cramped. An unmade twin bed is shoved into one corner, and across from it is a small flatscreen TV atop a stand, positioned in a way that one would either have to lay on their side to watch TV or sit atop the bed with their back against the wall.

The kitchen takes up half of another wall, being little more than a fridge, sink, some cabinets, and less than a foot of actual counter space. A microwave sits on a small, rickety shelf next to the fridge.

A decent chunk of the floor is covered in old newspapers, atop which sit an easel splotched with paint. A small table holds some paints and brushes, but the easel itself is empty.

“You a painter?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Trying to be,” you say as you set your backpack down beside the bed.

“Trying?” he repeats with a quirked brow.

“Well, I mean, I paint, so I am a painter I suppose, but…not…really making money off it yet.”

“Ah. ‘Fraid I can’t help you there,” Mr. Ring-a-Ding  says, turning out his empty pockets. A moth flies out of one of them and disappears behind him and he grins sheepishly up at you.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself over it,” you say easily, waving a hand. “I…do sort of have a job lined up. At the theater. I’ll be painting a few murals in the lobby.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, intrigued. “If ya don’t mind me saying so, honey, it’s gonna take more than a fresh coat of paint to get that place back in shape.”

Your laugh is a bit cynical as you shake your head. “Oh, trust me, Ring-a-Ding, I’m well aware. The builders and cleaning crews are running behind, so the boss--my dad’s friend’s son--is giving me some money to do what I can to get things moving while we wait. And I kinda need the money, so…” you trail off, shrugging.

“I see,” he says, stroking his chin in thought.

“A-Anyway, do you…need anything? D’you eat, or…or need me to set up a bed for you somewhere?”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Well…the truth is, I don’t need food. Or sleep,” he admits.

That possibility had occurred to you on the walk home. That perhaps staying in the theater wouldn’t be as detrimental to him as you’d initially feared…though it doesn’t make you regret your invitation. Surely he’d still be lonely? Maybe even scared…at the very least you’d like to think your apartment is still an improvement over a busted up old theater.

…Though perhaps you’re just flattering yourself.

“So what do you do all night, if not sleep?” you ask.

“Watch movies. What else would ya do in a theater all night?”

“True…” you say with a weak chuckle.

“But I think my first night back, I’ll be just fine hanging out at the window.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. You’d been about to try to set him up with your laptop, but maybe that’ll be an endeavor for another time, when you have more time to explain it to him. “In that case…I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright?”

“Certainly, sweetheart!” he says easily.

*

As you go to get changed, Lux perches on the console table below the small window, looking out it. The stars are barely visible--humans have apparently entered the phase of their development where they haven’t a clue how to manage light pollution.

Though that doesn’t bother Lux all that much. The glow of the neon signs and street lamps is light too, and at the moment he’s not overly picky.

He smiles softly to himself, replaying your words in his mind. If that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be? As far as you’re aware, he’s harmless. Maybe even fragile. Yet you still ask his permission for something as innocuous as getting ready for bed.

You’re certainly interesting. Though perhaps not very sharp. Your boss is clearly taking you for some kind of ride. Lux isn’t a trickster god, but he doesn’t have to be to see that you’re being duped.

Maybe he can help you out with that. Not out of any sense of justice or loyalty to you, of course. Gods don’t need food but they can rarely turn down a hearty serving of comeuppance.

As far as idle dalliances go, you might just be a good one.

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (5)

summary: a break away from reality is healing - for all of you. but when you return to Seoul, the storm waiting for you is far from over.

You were tired of feeling hunted.

Every person who walked up to the counter at work, every too-long stare, every offhand comment - it left a coil of anxiety in your chest.

But when your coworker popped her head around the corner and sung with a smirk, “Lover boy’s here,” your body finally exhaled.

Daesung was standing by the door of the café, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smile soft. Even just his presence steadied you.

You took your break early.

Outside, under the cool air of the afternoon, he slid a small box across the table. AirPods.

“You said you were anxious on the phone the other day,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “And music always helps me.”

You stared at them, touched. “Dae...”

“I also made you a playlist,” he added, almost sheepish. “You might hate it. It’s a mix of stuff I like... there's one in there that made me think of you, actually.”

You laughed softly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not. You deserve nice.”

You hadn't told him about the case. Not yet.

Not about the file you’d been shown. How your safety was now a question mark, how the little life you’d been building was beginning to feel like a tower of cards in the wind.

But in this moment - with his leg resting against yours under the table, the rhythmic bounce of his foot keeping your spiralling thoughts tethered - was peace.

Fragile peace you didn't dare taint.

“So,” he said, stirring his drink, “I’m going to Japan for a few days.”

Your heart dipped, just a little. “Oh.”

“You should come,” he said quickly. “With me.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working nonstop. You need a break. We can eat everything, shop, walk around all day. I’ll take care of the planning.”

“I don't know if I can get the time off yet,” you said, hesitating. “And... would it be a group thing?”

You were familiar with them. You'd been on your fare share over the years, with the boys always travelling for shows. And you presumed this was no exception.

Daesung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of. But Jiyong’s not coming if that's what you're worried about,” he added quickly. “He’s staying here. Said he has to sort some stuff out.”

That gave you pause.

It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did.

You looked down at your lap, contemplating before you felt a small smile tug at your lips. It would be nice to have a break. With him. “I’ll ask my manager.”

He grinned in relief. “That’s all I ask.”

You checked the time and sighed. “My break ended ten minutes ago.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” Daesung said, standing up and leaning over you, delicately dropping his lips to your head. "I'll speak to you later, yeah?"

You smiled up at him, watching as his figure slowly walk off. He waited at the end of the street, waving to you, then soon disappearing around the corner.

You stayed put, letting the street noise fill in the silence.

For a moment, it was just the sound of car engines, the murmur of conversation, a child crying somewhere in the distance.

You stared out at the busy street.

Someone was standing across the road, looking down at their phone.

You couldn’t make out their face. They could’ve been anyone. They could’ve been no one.

And yet.

The chill in your spine returned.

The peace was gone again

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were drying mugs when your colleague came up behind you, voice low but annoyed on your behalf.

“I still can’t believe she said no,” she muttered. “If she knew who BigBang were, she’d realise what a crime she’s committing.”

You laughed a little under your breath.

It helped - her dramatic outrage.

She’d fawned over Daesung every single time he’d dropped by the café to visit.

Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

She thought he was just a flirty friend you were blessed enough to stumble across. You hadn’t told her you had dated one of Daesung’s bandmates - one of the biggest names in K-pop.

And you never would.

It had been private. Carefully curated. With only your old media name tied to him.

Jiyong had of course posted photos of you together over the years - just glimpses, but it wasn't enough to draw connections. Besides, he was frequently linked to someone new, a model or some actress. It was easy to conceal your identity.

You’d always asked him to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you were grateful.

Your colleague moved away to serve someone whilst you stayed beside her, focusing on the porcelain in your hands.

Until the customer didn’t leave.

She hovered at the counter, staring.

You glanced up, uncomfortable. She was young. Pretty. Dressed like she’d stepped off a fashion blog.

And her eyes were locked on you.

“…Can I help you?” you asked cautiously.

Her voice was sharp. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“You’re the one who leaked the footage of GDragon. You’re that shitty ex.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your colleague did a double take, glancing between you and the girl.

“What the hell?” she said, trying to intervene. “She’s Daesung’s girlfriend actually - ”

Even though you weren't.

The girl didn’t care. She was seething now, hand tightening around her plastic cup.

“I'd recognise you anywhere. I've seen that tattoo before."

Oh god. So she was an obsessed fan, one of the many trying to witch hunt you.

"You tried to ruin him,” she spat. “You fucking snake.”

You barely had time to move.

The iced coffee hit your chest, shattering against your apron, soaking through your shirt. You gasped at the cold. Ice cubes skittered across the floor. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

But you did respond.

Physically.

Your hand grabbed the nearest thing - a fistful of sugar sachets - and launched them at her face. Hard.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Your manager shot up from her seat near the window, abandoning her laptop. “Out. Now.”

You turned and walked to the back room, heart thundering, coffee dripping down your front. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just wiped your face and tried to breathe.

The door opened.

Your manager stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. "Now I know the customer started it. But - "

“I get it,” you said flatly. “I’m fired.”

She didn’t argue.

You ripped off your apron, tossed it aside, and left without another word.

Outside, you shoved in your AirPods. Music roared in your ears.

You were halfway down the block when you collided with someone. You stumbled back, muttering a distracted “sorry.”

They kept walking.

You didn’t even look up.

Back at your apartment, you slammed the door shut, threw your keys blindly toward the counter - and knocked over the vase of tulips you had bought days ago. Water spilled across the table and ran off the edge. The flowers drooped against the marble.

You didn’t bother to fix them.

You just moved to stare out the window.

The street below was empty.

But your mind continued to tell you that something was there, even if you couldn't seem anything.

Coffee was soaking into the rug beneath your shoes, and you didn’t even care.

Your fingers found your phone.

And you called him.

“Is your offer still available?” you asked, voice hollow.

Daesung sounded surprised. “Wait - I thought you didn’t get the time off?”

“My manager changed her mind.”

There was a pause. “Well,” he said brightly, trying to lift the mood, “good thing I didn’t cancel anything yet. You’re gonna love Japan - the neon lights, the markets, the food - ”

You barely listened.

You stood there, phone to your ear, as his voice babbled on.

And continued to stare down at the desolate street below. It felt like you were waiting for a shadow to appear. The same one that was casting a dark spell over your sanity.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The airport was brimming with life - even at the ungodly hour. Families reuniting, wheels clacking against the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

You and Daesung were moving through it all, heads down, casual but efficient.

He was practically glowing beside you, clutching your luggage with one hand and swinging his other arm as he walked. There was a bounce in his step.

“I booked a spa place for us - one with warm stone rooms,” Daesung beamed. “And there’s this tiny local spot that does handmade soba. I thought we could go there tomorrow night.”

You nodded, warmed by his thoughtfulness, until you both slowed at the sight of the chaos ahead. A wall of fans and cameras gathered by one of the VIP exits.

Security blocked the crowd, holding firm lines.

You nudged Daesung with your elbow. “I almost forgot about this part.”

He craned his neck. “Well... at least we're prepared.”

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hood up and tugged your face mask into place. Daesung did the same, and together, you slipped around the edge of the chaos and into the quieter corridor leading to the VIP lounge.

But then you heard it. The shift in crowd noise. The camera shutters picking up speed.

You turned your head over your shoulder.

A trolley stacked with Rimowa suitcases was heading straight towards you.

And they were still covered in those ridiculous stickers. The ones you’d plastered all over them. Memories from each city you had visited together.

Jiyong was here.

He was striding forward with his security parting the crowd. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, cap low, but unmistakably him.

You grabbed Daesung’s arm, voice low. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

Daesung blinked at you, surprised. “He said he wasn’t.”

You didn’t have time to process it. Jiyong spotted you through the glass of the lounge and made a beeline for the door.

He entered with a sigh, tugging his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair like he’d been running the whole way.

“You’re early,” he said with a soft smile, stopping a few feet away. “I thought you’d be.”

You glared at him, eyes narrowed to bitter resentment.

Daesung broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What happened to taking care of things in Seoul?”

Jiyong didn’t take his eyes off you. “My responsibilities are here now.”

You rolled your eyes and Daesung felt it. He gave a half-laugh, feeling awkward. “Right. I’m, uh, gonna grab some food.” He glanced at you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, stepping to follow.

“What are we eating?” Jiyong asked, stepping after you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned sharply, hand up. “No.” The word was firm. A single finger raised in warning. “No.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled your carry-on from Daesung and shoved it into Jiyong’s chest, causing him to stumble slightly as he caught it.

“I need you to stay here and look after this for me.”

He blinked, expression flickering. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” you said again, turning on your heel. “You’ll be fine. Stay.”

You walked away with Daesung, not looking back. You almost felt bad speaking to him that way, until you remembered why you were mad at him.

Daesung kept pace beside you, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. "I swear, he said - "

You shook your head before he could say anymore. “It’s fine."

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe it’s good for him to see me. Like this. Moving on.”

Daesung hesitated. But he didn’t argue.

He simply placed a steady hand on your back and guided you toward one of the food stalls.

Far behind you now, Jiyong stood in the lounge, your carry-on in hand, staring after you with something unreadable in his eyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had thought things would be awkward at first, since Hyo Rin and Youngbae sided with Jiyong during the fallout.

But they surprised you.

They apologised, and it was sincere.

They even shared their snacks with you on the flight like nothing had happened. And Seunghyun wasn't in attendance - he was off preparing for enlistment.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of the group.

And when the private car finally pulled up to the hotel, you all went your separate ways.

Same floor, different rooms.

Your room was cozy, exactly what you needed after the long flight. You started unpacking, trying to shake off the tension still clinging to you, but when you went to grab your AirPods, you noticed one was missing.

You sighed.

You had a bad habit of losing things, but this one?

This one was especially annoying.

You plopped down on the bed and glanced around the room, half-expecting the missing AirPod to magically appear before you.

It didn’t.

Your mind drifted, as it often did, back to a memory with Jiyong.

It was your first anniversary, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the diamond earrings Jiyong had gotten you.

He was standing behind you, his arms casually slung around your waist, watching you with that soft, affectionate smile that only he could pull off.

“You almost ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “Just about. I’ll be done in a second.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, swaying slightly, his hands brushing over your dress - not to help, but to distract. He tugged at the little zipper.

“Jiyong,” you laughed, “come on, I’m trying to get ready here. You know I like to be early.”

"You look so beautiful.”

His hands traced the line of your dress, pushing the strap off your shoulder just enough so he could kiss the exposed skin.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered, but it was difficult to stay serious when he was being like this.

His lips brushed your neck, then your earlobe, before he playfully bit down. "You're making me hard,"

“Oh my god,” You breathed out, a laugh escaping as he pulled you backwards, towards the bed.

You never made it to the dinner.

But that hadn't been what the evening was supposed to be about anyway.

It was about you and him.

A day remembering the beginning of your relationship, which had bloomed from something so unexpected.

And as long as you were with him, you didn't care how you celebrated it.

Although, breathlessly tangled in bedsheets with Jiyong was a rather faultless way of honouring your love.

Your eyes felt heavy as you lay there, lying against his bare chest and staring at the TV on the wall - playing a show neither of you were really watching.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was tugging at your earlobe absentmindedly, his hair slightly damp and askew after you had spent hours tugging on it.

“You know, I think you lost one of your earrings,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You tensed, your hand flying up to check your ear. “What?” You felt around the bed, panic rising as you realised it was true. “No, no, I can’t find it!”

“Don’t worry,” he teased, his voice low, amused. “It’s probably just fallen somewhere. I can't believe you’ve lost it already, Jagi.”

You scrambled to search the floor, uncaring for your naked state, desperately looking for the missing earring. “What do you mean I’ve lost it?!”

He chuckled, stretching across the bed as you yanked the covers from his bare body, tossing them across the room to double-check the mattress. Jiyong lay there, smiling, thumb pulling at his lip as he watched you.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, sounding too relaxed about it. “Maybe a few more, so I can keep biting your ears and make sure you keep losing them.”

You glared at him, even though it had no malice behind it. “You're right. This is your fault.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out to tug you closer until you were standing against the edge of the bed.

He stared up at you, eyes warm and full of admiration. “I won’t stop,” he promised, his hands brushing against the curve of your backside. “When it comes to you, I have no control.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, even as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though you loved him for it.

And when he went to bite the curve of your thigh, you shrieked with laughter, the sound filling the room, the moment a perfect bubble of happiness.

He tugged you hard, your body collapsing onto his - onto the bed, the world outside slipping away.

The knock at your hotel door pulled you sharply back to the present. Your heart raced as you stared at the door for a moment, your hand still clutching the missing AirPod.

The memory of Jiyong, of how things used to be, clung to you like a scent that couldn't be washed away.

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hands on your pants. The knock came again, louder this time.

With one last glance at the missing AirPod, you forced yourself to stand. You walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

Daesung was standing there, grinning with that familiar warmth.

“You ready for an adventure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and into the elevator.

Next thing you knew, you were being whisked away to the Mario Kart go-kart experience in the streets of Tokyo.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and that was what made it so perfect.

You both suited up in bright, oversized outfits, giggling at each other from your respective go-karts, racing through the bustling streets of the city.

The rush of speed, the adrenaline coursing through you as you zipped past buildings and tourists, was invigorating.

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as Daesung swerved a pothole and nearly crashed into a traffic cone. He stayed just slightly behind you, letting you take the glory, and preventing the people from behind from overtaking you.

It was liberating. To forget.

You didn’t even think about the mess you’d left behind.

The whispers. The stalker. Your job. Jiyong.

But eventually, the karts came to a stop, and you were back in the quiet of the Tokyo streets, the air cool against your skin.

You both strolled around, taking in the sights together. He was leading you towards a restaurant, talking animatedly about the noodles you just had try.

You hadn't even noticed you were holding hands until he tugged you back from stepping onto the crossing as a cyclist whizzed past. You smiled at him in gratitude.

Your adrenaline was still pumping from the racing. Your head rushed. It was addicting.

And then, of course, Daesung had to ruin it by bringing up Jiyong.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Daesung began, his voice casual but tinged with something softer. “How are you really doing with everything? With him.”

You sighed, removing your linked hands to rake it through your hair.

Of course, it had to come up. It always did.

It felt like no matter where you went, or what you tried to do to move forward, the past kept following you like an inevitable shadow.

“I don’t know, Dae,” you admitted, “I just… I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep going back to that. I just want to move forward, you know? We’re in Tokyo. I want to enjoy the trip. I want to enjoy this.”

Daesung didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his expression serious. After a beat, he sighed.

“You can’t move forward until you make peace with the past, though,” he said quietly, his words hitting harder than you expected.

You stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not clueless, Y/n,” he continued, his tone a little more pointed. “I know why Jiyong’s here. He’s here because you’re here. And he’s probably wondering where you are right now. Why you’re with me.”

You felt your chest tighten. His words landed like a punch, but there was no anger in them, only truth.

You looked away, avoiding his gaze as the words he spoke lingered in the air.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you muttered, but your voice sounded small, even to you.

Daesung’s voice softened. “Sorry, I just feel...”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the cool surface of a nearby shop window as you gathered your thoughts. You knew what he was going to say.

Guilty.

You hadn't felt that way at first. Maybe only a fleeting pinch. But leaving things unresolved with Jiyong meant your time with Daesung felt... borrowed.

Like you weren't allowed to progress until you had closed that chapter for good.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ve been avoiding him. But I can't stomach the thought of a conversation with him. He really hurt me."

Your words didn't even begin to cover the damage Jiyong had inflicted. Even if it had been from misplaced anger and judgement.

Daesung nodded, his hand falling gently on your shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I understand. I'd never push you into something you're not ready for."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he smiled, a soft, understanding smile.

It almost felt like his words had another meaning to them - like you weren't just ready for a conversation with Jiyong, but ready to move on.

Sometimes you wondered that if you sealed things off from Jiyong, then maybe your path with Daesung would suddenly appear.

Right now, it felt blurred and unsure.

It also felt exciting and hopeful.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words.

“Fine I promise that I'll be better,” you said softly, “I'll... try to keep the peace. But - he has to respect my boundaries too. I'm tired of people pushing me to my limits."

"I'll speak to him." He assured you with a nod. Then Daesung smiled again, his face lighting up. “I want you to have a good time. And we’ll be here, together. No more worries.”

You both stood there for a moment, the city moving around you, the night air cool against your skin. You stared up at him and then reached on your tip-toes, holding his broad shoulders for support as you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Daesung squeezed your waist as your feet flattened again, then he took your hand - fingers interlocked, continuing your journey through the city together.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The spa was meant to be a reprieve. A calming pause before the boy's performance later that night.

You and Daesung were wrapped in white robes, wandering through the corridors of still water and soft music. It was almost easy to pretend everything was simple again.

Almost.

Your eyes burned into the ink scrawled across his back.

Jiyong walked a few paces ahead, shuffling towards the indoor pool.

He had invited himself along, and Daesung had only offered an apologetic shrug when you looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.

You hadn’t said anything. There was no point.

You paused your steps, letting Jiyong go his own way. You just needed to keep your distance, stay in control.

But control slipped a little the moment Daesung loosened the tie on his robe.

He shrugged it off with the ease of someone used to being shirtless around others, and your gaze, unprepared, was caught.

The cut of his muscles. The curve of his biceps. The way his shorts hung low on his hips.

His body was all hard lines and effortless strength, and you knew he worked out, but you hadn’t seen it like this. Not so close. Not so bare.

You blinked and turned your head quickly, heart fluttering in your chest. The thought of sitting beside him in the sauna - watching sweat trace down the thick column of his neck, pooling in the crevice of his chest - was suddenly too much.

“I think I’ll go for the steam room,” you said lightly, masking the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked over at you and smiled, towel in hand. “Alright. Let’s do that instead.”

The steam curled thick around you both as you stepped into the room. It was quiet, private, the hiss of heat enveloping your skin in seconds.

You sat side by side on the tiled bench, your knees almost brushing.

The air was hot and wet, making the silence between words stretch longer than it should have - but Daesung, ever gentle, filled it with low laughter and small stories. Something about the last time they were in Japan. A fan encounter. A near-disastrous ramen challenge.

You laughed softly, grateful for the lightness.

But after a while, he leaned back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"I might have to step out for a bit,” he murmured. “I'm getting a little lightheaded in here.”

You shifted upright. “I’ll come with - ”

“No, no. Stay,” he said quickly, hand brushing yours to stop you. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the thick fog. You exhaled and let your head fall back, trying to melt into the heat.

That’s when the door opened again.

You didn’t look. “That was quick - ”

“Y/n.”

You sat up fast.

Jiyong stood there, steam already beginning to curl around his body, his dark hair damp from the humidity. He wore nothing but tight black trunks, clinging to his thighs.

You stiffend, instantly on guard.

“No,” you snapped. “Get out.”

He stepped in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you. Even if I have to beg.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

He took a step forward. “Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

You stayed silent.

Tension hung between you, thick as the steam in the air. Old feelings clawing their way back to the surface. You hated how he could still pull them from you so easily.

He looked at you for a beat, eyes unwavering. “Well?” he prompted. “Do you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “Go on then. Beg.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do it.

But then - he dropped. Right onto the steaming tile floor, knees hitting hard, ignoring the sharp heat searing against his skin. His hands came together in front of him, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, words low and sincere. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since trying to be better. Trying to prove it. And I’ll keep doing it, Y/n. I’ll keep proving it. Just… please.”

The steam blurred the edges of him, but the emotion in his voice cut through like glass.

“One more chance,” he said, voice thick now. Raw.

He didn’t look away. And despite everything, it was hard to keep your heart guarded when he looked at you like that.

You exhaled slowly, heart tight in your chest.

“I'm tired, Jiyong,” you said finally. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s not fair to the others. I want this trip to be good. For all of us.”

His head dropped for a moment, as if something in him had finally unclenched.

You let out a breath. “You can get up now. Before someone thinks we’re doing something else in here.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rose. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

He sat beside you, trunks sitting low on his waist, traces of his thigh tattoos peaking out. You stared ahead, trying not to glance at him, at the water glistening on his chest, the way his hair curled slightly with the heat.

The air was thick now, not just with steam but something unspoken.

History. Hunger. Longing.

Even just his presence beside you made your skin feel too tight. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel him, the weight of what you used to be, of what you almost still were.

“Are you coming to the show later?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

He smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”

And in that small pocket of heat and silence, the ache between you stirred again - unresolved, undeniable.

But for now, you leaned back, closed your eyes, and tried to let the steam carry it all away.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You and Hyorin had screamed yourselves hoarse from the barricade, limbs tangled in the wild energy of the fans.

It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Even if you hadn’t planned to cheer. Even if you told yourself you’d stay cool. Composed.

That hadn't been possible when Youngbae had stripped his shirt off and thrown it at the crowd - Hyorin fighting with a screaming girl to claim it. Or when Daesung poured his bottled water over his body, flicking the rest in your direction with a wink.

And especially not when Jiyong had collapsed to his knees in the middle of his performance of 'If You'. His eyes never leaving yours.

Unrelenting. Pleading.

Now, long after the final encore, the energy hadn’t quite faded.

You were all crammed into a hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, the kind of place that smelled like grease and burning. Noodles and soju littered the table, laughter spilling from every corner.

Youngbae had long since surrendered holding his head up, resting it flat on the tabletop, dead to the world.

Hyorin giggled uncontrollably as she slowly, dramatically piled noodles on top of his bleached hair, strand by strand.

“You’re going to give him a noodle crown,” you wheezed, covering your mouth with your hand.

She shushed you with mock seriousness. “Don’t wake him up!”

Even Jiyong had his head tipped back in laughter, cheeks pink from soju and residual adrenaline.

It felt like before. Before the fights. Before the silence. Before everything cracked.

Eventually, the energy began to fade, and someone mumbled something about sleep. Everyone agreed in a chorus of groans.

You stood, wincing immediately as the ache in your feet made itself known.

“God, I shouldn't have worn these shoes,” you muttered.

“Come on,” Daesung said, crouching down before you. “Hop on.”

“What? No, you just danced for like three hours, you must be - ”

He turned his head and gave you a look. “I said, hop on.”

You hesitated, then gave in with a laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders and jumping onto his back. He hoisted you easily, gripping your thighs with a tight squeeze.

“Dae!” you squealed when he immediately took off into a sprint, making your stomach lurch with each bounce.

“You said your feet hurt!” he called back, breathless and grinning.

Behind you, you could hear Hyorin’s laughter, and Jiyong’s complaining as they were left to drag Youngbae’s half-sleeping form toward the hotel.

By the time you got back to the room, your whole body ached with exhaustion. You fell onto the bed face first with a groan.

“Dead,” you mumbled into the pillow.

Daesung leaned down, gently slipping your shoes off. “Still very beautiful though,”

“Mm,” you grunted, eyes fluttering closed as you rolled onto your side.

He tucked the blanket around you carefully, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned in. Your breath caught. For a second, you thought - maybe -

But his lips just brushed the corner of your mouth. A near-kiss. Warm and fleeting.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

You were drifting when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You groaned and reached for it blindly.

“What,” you muttered, not even checking the screen.

“Hi.”

You frowned. That voice. Low and hesitant.

Jiyong.

“What do you want now?” you asked, more tired than annoyed.

“Did you get back okay?” His voice was quiet. Softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Daesung walked me to my room.”

You didn’t tell him about the blanket. Or the almost kiss.

“Good,” Jiyong said. “I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

You said nothing, eyes closing again.

“You two have gotten close.”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause. “I’m glad Daesung was there when I wasn’t. He’s a good friend. For looking after you… for me.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed, but continued despite your silence. “I’m glad I can talk to you again,” he said. “We used to call after my shows, remember? When you couldn’t come, I’d call you the second I got offstage. Couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”

You nodded, but your mind was too foggy with sleep to respond.

“I haven’t really slept since we ended,” he added. “Not properly.”

You breathed out, slow and heavy. Already gone from the moment.

“I love you.”

But you didn’t hear him.

The phone slipped from your hand as you fell into sleep, the line still open.

When your alarm blared early the next morning, you jolted upright, groggy and sore. You reached for your phone to silence it - and that’s when you saw it.

The call was still ongoing.

You hesitantly brought the phone to your ear and waited. You could hear soft breathing. The gentle rhythm of Jiyong’s sleep, steady and low.

He hadn’t hung up.

You stared at the call log.

He’d stayed on the phone all night.

Your finger hovered above the red button. Just for a second.

Then you sighed and ended the call.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the trip had ended on a high, normality was calling you to return.

But that didn't mean Japan hadn't left its mark.

You'd have to find a new job once you returned. And the break from Seoul had sown a seed of hope.

Maybe you could return to your passion of producing again. Maybe it was time to move forward, instead of letting the world moving around you.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The familiar scent of your linen spray still lingered faintly in the air, a gentle, deceptive kind of welcome.

Home.

But something felt off.

And then you saw them.

The tulips.

They sat back in their vase on the counter. The very same vase you’d left knocked over. The flowers had begun to wilt, petals sagging from their stems. You had left them lying on the marble.

You knew you had.

The bag in your hands fell to the floor, your grip weak.

A wave of dread slammed into you. It was too much. After everything - your job, your breakup, the long, slow crawl of putting yourself back together - this, this, was the thing that made the cracks split open.

You cried.

Loud, ugly sobs that ripped through your chest.

Someone had been here.

Someone had invaded your only safe space.

The police came quickly. Professional, composed, too calm for the way your voice shook as you explained everything.

They swept the apartment, asked questions, took photos.

They didn’t find anyone.

But they did find what you feared most.

Your bedroom window - shattered from the outside.

Glass on the floor.

And clear signs that someone had entered.

One of the officers pulled his notebook out and gave you a grave look. “It’s clear someone broke in through the window. We’re escalating the case from a report of harassment to a formal investigation for unlawful entry. You did the right thing calling it in.”

You were shaking.

Your fingers trembled, clenched around the sleeves of your hoodie like you were trying to ground yourself. Willing your body to stay standing. And you wouldn't have been able to -

Had it not been for Jiyong’s arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Pressing you against his familiar embrace.

The officer glanced between the two of you. “Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. “With me.” he held you closer. "She's coming home with me."

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body soak into your bones.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

But maybe it could be a person.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

dae: i'll speak to him about boundaries

cut to jiyong the next day on his knees, in a steam room, begging you for attention

this damn drama queen

a/n: my big bang girls gave me keywords for this fic: sauna, begging, pathetic man, and dog collar - i hope i lived up to most of them

sorry if this wasn't my best work - i'm still grinding at uni butttt only 2 assignments left 🥳🥳🥳🥳 yipeeee

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

[irreverent-saints]

PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST

Unwanted Visitors

Idun had salt in her nostrils and a breeze through her hair. There were no clouds upon the sky, no whitecaps in the sea, and no buildings for miles. She snuck into a dense patch of growth and hauled out a narrow boat. To even call this vessel that was generous. Worms had left intricate patterns as they burrowed into it. The planks had warped apart, held together by straw, tar and faith. Were it not waterlogged, it could have made for decent firewood. Not much else. Idun looked over her shoulder. She dragged the boat over the most sandy part of the bay and mounted a makeshift trolling line with a bright red bobber. Then she pushed herself out. She did a test run in the shallows, making sure no holes were leaking. After gathering confidence she rowed out at sea.

She ventured further, a long stretch of bright white sand. Then she passed an underwater cliff, and there was nothing under her but black sea. She swallowed, staring back at her line. She rowed carefully, testing the give against waves. The sea remained calm. She held her hand against tar. Dry. For now. Idun moved slowly for about half an hour. The red dot ebbed. She leaned over, wrapping the line around a sturdy stick. The boat kept jerking. She pressed her thighs against the edges and lowered her torso, intent on reeling in her catch. With each wrap around the stick, the fight grew heavier. The first glimmering fish emerged near the surface. A sizeable cod. Two more. She grinned, strands of hair sticking to her face and briny grime up to her elbow. She lugged them in and bled them. Then she rowed back to shore. She hid her boat near the roots of a tree, covered with twigs and straw. Then she put her catch into a waxed cotton sack, tucked her flyaways to the side and softened her face. She walked up to the road when she gleaned a figure near the shore. She adjusted her coat and straightened her back. The man approached. Idun tensed up.

“Good day, nice place to go for a walk, isn’t it?” Paal said. Idun nodded.

“Fresh air is good for you.” she said.

“Are you sure thieving from the ocean is a good idea,” he asked bluntly. Idun froze.

“What. Why?”

“I saw you. Don’t do that again. At best you could drown, at worst the curse could spread to our seas,”

Iduns heart pounded as she stared at the man. He stood in the middle of the road. A stern look on his face as he carried himself with the understated discipline of a soldier.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said, continuing to slowly walk. He stepped in front of her.

“These waves have pulled so many good men under, I would hate to see you go as well,” he said. Idun took a deep breath.

“Would you?” She sneered. “I’d be shocked if anyone at all cared what happened to this hag,”

He smirked.

“They are scared of your curse, not you,” he said, bringing out a small notebook. He scribbled something down. “in fact, I’m sure they would love to be able to talk to you under less… tense circumstances,”

He handed her a small piece of paper.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Summer festivities. I will help host it. Give yourself a break from all this suffering and have some fun for once,”

Idun looked at him stunned. He kept that same sly grin.

“I’ll… see if I can fit it into my schedule.” She said, tucking it away.

They parted ways, and she hurried home. She glanced at the paper one last time before settling in to prepare the fish. She put them in a smoke chamber and bundled up in her chair. There she grabbed hold of a large cape. One side was pale and dusty, the other a deep, varied green with hundreds of scraps poking out. She sewed bits of dry moss, old rags and whatever she could find onto it until it moreso resembled peat than an outfit. If nothing else it meant she could spend her evening stabbing something a few thousand times. By dusk she looked over her piece, satisfied with her progress.

And by early morning Idun was back in the birch forest. The trees grew sparse, rarely taller than her head, She held a long spike in her hand, making her way to the Deep Woods. Her steps were silent, always aware of her intrusion. She reversed her cape to the beige side and put up the hood. The cloth limited her vision. Small price to pay. She picked up speed. On the way she looked out for lichen, birchbark and the odd spire. Those giant trees loomed in the distance, shrouded by mist.

She trudged her way through a dense patch of birches. As she emerged from the foliage, a large shadow shifted. She jumped, tripping over herself. There, so deceptively quiet, a Jotun walked across the terrain. The fog softened his outline, and it was as if every sound had been wrapped in cotton. A gentle wind howled throughout the landscape. She froze in place, ever so slowly moving closer to the ground. He was in no hurry. Each step gingerly placed ahead until he was close enough to reach out and grab her. Idun cowered. He sauntered in her direction. She tried to shuffle backwards as his paw landed a few meters from her. The faintest sound of gravel shifting, and a wash of displaced air. Were she to close her eyes, nothing more would indicate his presence. Another step. Closer. She could barely think as his massive shadow fell over her. A few hairs from the tip of his tail grazed her, and with that he had passed through. Idun felt as if her chest was going to burst. The Jotun looked to the side, assessing his surroundings with curiosity. He glanced down. His whole body seized. His tail flung and he slammed his foot down, quaking the earth. Idun ran towards the trees. He stood still. They both stared at each other.His shoulders slowly sank, and the quills that had stood out in all directions soon laid neat against his skin. He nodded slightly, lowering his ears.

“morning. I didn’t see you there,” he said. Idun laid there dumbstruck.

“G-good morning...” she stuttered.

“You look familiar,” he said, taking a step closer, she hid behind a birch, it failed to provide cover, “you’re the one that didn’t attack,”

“Oh no, I would never,” she said.

“How interesting. What are you doing here?” He asked, Idun shrank.

“Oh the usual, enjoying this wonderful nature we have all been blessed with,” she bluffed, doing her best to project her voice.

He squinted.

“And what does that entail?”

“Observing the birds, getting some fresh air in my lungs, exercising my body,”

The Jotun nodded.

“What great activities. Have fun with that, and don’t go further into the woods,” he said with a grin. Then he stood up, looking over his shoulder with narrow eyes, “also. I don’t recommend wearing those colours out here, I can barely distinguish you from the ground,”

“Thanks for the advice!” she said, clenching her jaw. He reached into a satchel strapped to his waist, retrieving a bright red leaf. The giant knelt down before her, in doing so his thighs encased her like walls. Any and all escape routes cut off. He stretched his hand out, leaf pinched between two claws that somehow failed to even bruise it.

“Here, carry this. Lets not startle each other again,” he said. She reluctantly grabbed hold of the leaf, big as parasol above her head.

“How nice of you,” she said. With no further courtesies the Jotun left.

Idun stared, puzzled and amazed. The Jotun disappeared into the Deep Woods. She didn’t follow.

Idun then spent a few days eating cod and pondering her life.

Then more time passed, the Jotun’s word had fallen on deaf ears, and she was halfway up an almond tree. She had arrived by vine, and from there it grew so tall that she could more or less walk upright along the branches. She inched toward the drupe when the ground shook. She froze in place. The huge wooden doors opened, as if the very mountain pried apart. In between foliage she gleaned the Jotun as he stretched and looked around. He hunched slightly over, letting out a deep rattle, almost a yammer. She draped her camouflage over herself and flattened against the tree. One gruelling pull forwards, one glance over her shoulder. Repeat.

The jotun scratched his chin. He proceeded to move in a casual, yet deliberate fashion, scanning the ground. A lean on caught his eye. He furrowed his brows, gently poking at it with his paw. Idun stared, praying that no human remained inside. He paused, ripping a part of the wall off before studying the makeshift shelter further. Satisfied with his assessment he kicked it apart as if it were made from tissues and matchsticks. She heaved. He made his round. When he was on the very opposite side of his garden she crawled further out on the branch. One almond of this size could make for several meals. The best way to go about it was to cut the stalk, and hopefully not go tumbling along with her catch. She could then collect them on her way back. She wrapped her legs tightly, retrieving a machete as she began to hack off a pod. As each fell down, the branches shook. She clutched against the branch, palms sweaty and a heartbeat in the hundreds. Four down, and she didn’t die on the way. One would have to consider that a victory.

She inched backwards, always aware of the fifty feet drop. She made her way down one branch, and from there she could climb the vine she had come from.

A huge shadow moved between the leaves. She seized. Then she flattened against the branch, barely gleaning a huge torso. She put up her hood and ruffled her cape, making sure every single piece of her was covered up. The Jotun browsed the shrub. He snapped an almond off of the branch. Idun clutched, knuckles white. He popped the whole thing, pod and all, into his mouth. A sickening crunch rang out. She laid there frozen as he helped himself to more. His wrist went past her, barely avoiding her cape. The spurs on is arm flew over her head. His chest hummed subtly, rapid, deep clicks.

He froze in place. Idun held her breath. His hand hovered just over her, radiating heat. He turned his head to the side. His eye flashed, a strange, crescent pupil. His ear flicked. Iduns arms began to tingle, numb from holding onto the branch with all her strength. This being was infathomable in scale. Not just in mass, but in the way he seemed tuned into the most subtle of movements. As if his very senses moved through the land in fractals, any and all intrusion accounted for. She felt as if a single stray hair, or a little too sharp an inhale would betray her location. She had his breath on her neck. Warm, slightly damp air washed over her. She clenched her jaw, moving only her eyeballs to gaze up at him. The side of his face took up most of her view as he slowly continued to chew the almond. She stood still. His pupil moved. He stared directly at her. A single, yellow eye through thick foliage. His pupil narrowed. Neither of them moved an inch.

A loud crackle. Singed fur. She grappled the twig, breathing in sharply. The jotun twitched. He stumbled backwards, holding his hand up to under his armpit. She gleaned a bright red stain. He heaved. Her ears rang. The jotun rubbed his wound. He glanced back at the tree before stepping away, slumped back and ears hanging low. He moved sluggishly, massaging the bloody spot as he slowly retreated to his cave.

Idun hurried down, collecting her catch. She rushed away from his garden. On the way she passed three bright red puddles in the soil. If not him, me, she thought, looking away.

[absdollievu]

Clash of Queens

councilpresident!abby x cheercaptain!reader

You don’t even want to go on this damn leadership retreat.

It’s a two-day overnight at some rundown lodge in the middle of nowhere, sponsored by the school district. Meant to “build teamwork” among student leaders. You tried to fake a cold to get out of it. Abby, of course, showed up ten minutes early with an extra clipboard and a thermos full of decaf tea.

The second you step off the bus, she’s already assigning name tags and task rotations like this is a military operation.

You get your room key. You glance at the little plastic tag and feel your stomach drop.

Room 207: Anderson, A.

And then, you see your first and last name next to hers

No.

Absolutely not.

You march straight up to the retreat coordinator.

“There’s been a mistake.”

He smiles like he gets paid to not care. “We’re pairing students up by position—president and captain, heads of organizations. It’s part of the trust-building curriculum.”

“I don’t trust her with my coffee order,” you hiss. “You want me to sleep in the same room as her?”

But it’s final.

You drag your suitcase down the hallway, seething.

⸻

She’s already in the room when you walk in—suitcase by the bed, sleeves rolled up, standing near the one window. There’s a twin bed in each corner, a dresser, and a heater that makes a noise like it’s dying slowly.

She doesn’t even turn when you enter.

“So we’re doing this.”

You slam your bag onto the dresser. “Unless you want to give up your spot and sleep in the woods.”

“Tempting,” she mutters.

You change in silence—both of you facing away from each other, acting like you’re totally unfazed. But it’s impossible not to notice the way her tank top stretches across her back muscles, the way her jaw clenches as she brushes her teeth, the way she never lets herself fully relax, not even when she sits on the edge of her bed.

Later, when the lights are off and you’re both lying in your own beds—wide awake—you can feel the tension in the air. You could cut it with a knife.

You shift under your blanket. “Can you breathe quieter?”

“Can you complain quieter?” she fires back.

You glare in the dark. “I can’t believe we have to do this again tomorrow.”

Abby’s voice is low. “I can’t believe you showed up in a glitter hoodie to a leadership retreat.”

You smirk into your pillow. “I can’t believe you brought a planner to a weekend in the woods.”

“I can’t believe you snore.”

“I do not snore.”

“You do. You sound like a congested chihuahua.”

You sit up, eyes narrowed in the dim moonlight. “I knew you were listening to me sleep, you perv.”

She snorts—actually snorts—and you’re so stunned you forget to be mad.

Then it’s quiet again.

Seconds stretch. And something changes.

You hear her shift under her blanket. “…This isn’t how I thought tonight would go.”

Your heart thuds.

You don’t speak for a moment.

Then: “How did you think it would go?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “Worse.”

You look over. She’s lying on her side, one arm tucked under her head, eyes faintly visible in the glow from the window.

You whisper, “Is this… us being civil?”

She exhales. “God, I hope not. That sounds boring.”

You bite back a smile. “Yeah. I like when you argue with me. You get all intense.”

“I’m always intense.”

“No,” you say. “Not like that. You get… louder.”

“And you,” she says, “you poke on purpose. Like you want to get a rise out of me.”

You hold your breath.

She adds, quieter: “You do.”

You swallow, hard. “Maybe I like how you look when you’re mad.”

Abby doesn’t move.

Your voice is barely audible. “Or maybe I just like looking at you.”

There’s a beat of silence. You hear the fabric of her blanket shift again. Her voice is tight now. Careful.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

You sit up slightly, your heart pounding. “What if I do?”

She shifts again. Now she’s sitting up, too—mirroring you across the tiny room. You can’t see her expression fully, but her eyes… they’re locked on yours. And for once, she doesn’t look annoyed. Or smug. She looks scared. Unsteady.

You whisper, “Abby—”

She’s out of her bed before you can finish, crossing the space between you in two steps. And suddenly she’s standing in front of you.

You don’t know who moves first—but suddenly her hand is on your face, and your fingers are curling in the hem of her sleep shirt, and her lips are right there.

Not touching.

Not yet.

Just close enough to taste the heat off them.

“I hate you,” she whispers.

You smile, eyes half-lidded. “No, you don’t.”

And then she kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s every insult, every glare, every breathless fight turned into something molten.

Her hands are in your hair, yours are sliding over her sides, nails scraping her skin where her shirt rides up. You’re breathless, gasping into her mouth, and she swallows every sound like it belongs to her.

She pushes you gently back onto your mattress, straddling you, her thighs caging you in. Her forehead rests against yours for a second, her breath shaky.

“This is a bad idea,” she mutters.

You nod. “The worst.”

Her mouth finds yours again.

Neither of you sleeps that night. Obviously

⸻

a/n: part 3??? Send more requests!!

[nataliasquote]

To Build a Home | n romanoff

summary: natasha comes home from a tough routine mission and wants nothing more than to shut the outside world out for a night.

warnings: mentions of injury, explosions, fluffff and soft Nat

wc: 2.5k

note: more soft Nat for you all! some of you know who I wrote this for :) I hope she enjoys it because i’m very very proud of her

-⧗-

The waiting was the worst part.

The days leading up to a mission were good, and the mission time itself had happened enough for it to feel routine by now, but the sinking gut feeling never quite dissipated no matter how many nights Natasha was away from home.

Y/n knew how to keep herself busy, throwing herself into work and social events that occurred on the daily at SHIELD. But the vast emptiness of their shared city apartment only seemed to feel colder as the nights crept by, a lowness settling in the air like a sheet. Company was a four-legged friend who clearly had a preference for Natasha, but curled up close by when she was nowhere to be seen. Liho was moody but he knew his duty.

The living room was bathed in a warm light and music trickled softly from the speakers nestled beside the tv, adding to the ambience who’s only role was to fill the never ending silence. Y/n sat tucked up to the coffee table, mission reports scattered across the wooden surface as she sat, feet tucked under her like a child.

There was something grounding about sitting on the floor, the softness of the rug offering a sliver of comfort as she wrote. Hours or minutes could be passing, it wasn’t clear. Every day just felt impossibly longer. Dinner had long passed, but her appetite had left with Natasha, only a dull ache now residing in her stomach. Certainly not the most healthy habit, and one that the redhead wishes she could stop, but cooking for one only cemented the worries that she wouldn’t return home.

Even now, the coffee in her mug had turned cold, abandoned beside a pouch of pens and various stationary items. The caffeine was to stay awake, sure, but anxiety seemed to have that job down well, and sleep felt like lightyears away. Y/n wrote steadily, movements rarely ceasing unless to pause to read. But it drowned out everything else, and that’s all that mattered.

Time passed slowly until…

The soft click of a lock.

Y/n’s head turned to the door, eyes straining in the dim light as the door handle pressed slowly downwards. She didn’t rush to get up, no, this was routine. No sudden movements or noises because there was no saying what state Natasha would be in when she returned.

The redhead kept her head low, exhaustion weighing every muscle down until it was almost painful to walk. Autopilot had taken over in her mind and she barely registered even being back in her apartment - but here she was. Hooded eyes, dim with the horrors of the mission, cast across the room until a figure registered into focus, no longer a hazy outline, but something stronger… something real.

The sight of her girlfriend on the floor across the room, the glow of the light catching her hair and illuminating the softness of a hoodie she recognised - hers. The usual mismatched socks, the stray strand of hair, the painted but slightly chipped nail polish, it was so painfully familiar, and it was hers.

Natasha let her bag drop to the floor with a controlled thud, her eyes not even registering where it landed as they locked with a pair she knew more than anything else in the world. Not a word was spoken as she padded across the wooden floor, footsteps heavier than normal, and sank down onto the floor.

Her joints ached and her muscles screamed but she didn’t care. Her back found solace against the front of the couch but even the support that gave her wouldn’t truly satiate the need she’d suppressed for 3 weeks straight.

“Hi,” Y/n spoke softly, quickly scanning her girlfriend’s body for any signs of pain. She looked okay, but more would probably be revealed later on in the night. The gentle tug of a gaze pulled her eyes back upwards, where they settled on the face she could trace in her sleep. Every fibre in her body was on fire with the urge to leap forwards, but not without Natasha’s permission. There was no telling how or what she was feeling, and caution was crucial.

But maybe it wasn’t needed as much with the redhead. Even Natasha smiled and leaned forward, pulling Y/n in by the waist until she settled on her lap. Her bruised hands immediately found warm skin under the hoodie and she laced her fingers, locking them together in an embrace, locking their bodies together as one.

“How did it go?”

Natasha didn’t answer at first, too focussed on the weight that grounded her. She pressed her face into the space between Y/n’s shoulder and neck, inhaling the sweet scent of something more natural than perfume.

“Got everything and more,” she simply replied. “The flash drive opened up a whole rabbit warren of leads to follow, and we got one of the main suspects to reveal blueprints, so we’re one step ahead.” There was something unspoken but that would come on Natasha’s terms.

“Fury satisfied?” Natasha nodded, her grip tightening as she moved her hands higher up Y/n’s back. The bare expanse of skin was inviting and she held her there, close and safe, the way she needed it.

Natasha wasn’t a talker after gruelling missions, preferring to sit in silence to drown out the horrors in her head. And this time, her body had been put through hell, so the comforting weight of her safe person silenced every last gunshot and scream.

“I needed this,” she mumbled, her nose dragging up the side of Y/n’s neck until she got to her jaw. “Needed you.”

“I know baby, I know.” Y/n gently took Natasha’s face in her palms, cool skin on burning cheeks. There were dark circles around the redhead’s eyes, and flecks of dirt hidden amongst freckles. “I wanted you safe.” Natasha leaned into her touch, savouring this tender moment.

She hummed. “I am safe now.” And she was. Even in the forest with the darkness of night setting her senses on high alert and her stress levels skyrocketing, the steady memory of her girl in her mind gave Natasha the solace she needed to keep pushing through. And no amount of shooting or fighting was ever going to take that away.

She dropped her head forwards again, temples pushed up against the fabric of her stolen sweater. Perfume, muted but sweet, filled her nose, grounding her in the moment. A gentle hand threaded itself into her braid, now loose from days of travel and sharp movements. It scraped against her scalp, slow and reverent, easing the tension with every pass. She could have fallen asleep right there in the comfort and tranquility of her safe space, even if the hardwood floor was starting to dig into her bones.

They sat entwined as minutes ticked past, no words uttered. Just breathing and existing as one, the stress of the mission slowly melting into the floor and releasing its grip on the redhead’s stiff muscles. The distant slam of a door or shrill ring of a phone barely registered in this newfound paradise. The only movement from Natasha as she stroked Liho’s side as he stalked past, still salty from his lack of attention.

Natasha let out a soft groan as her legs started cramping. She lifted her head, eyes half shut, and brushed the scarred skin of Y/n’s hip. “Baby,” she whined, voice cracking slightly. Y/n shifted carefully, guiding her onto the couch before she was promptly pulled into her side, cheek resting on the redhead’s chest.

“Dinner?” Natasha knew the answer, and the subtle hum that vibrated across her collarbones made her shake her head subtly.

“You know I can’t without you,” Y/n replied, slightly guilty. Natasha kissed her forehead gently, letting her lips linger for a few seconds before she pulled away. “Did you get some at SHIELD?”

Natasha laughed breathily. “Detka, I came straight here. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.” Debrief wasn’t important. Whatever Fury had to say, it could wait. And no one dared complain, not to her. No one got in the way of Natasha Romanoff and her home.

Y/n pushed herself up from her position, mindful of her girlfriend’s battered body as she reached for her phone. She tapped frantically, a small frown etching itself between her brows as she paused before tossing it to the side.

“Fifteen minutes,” she murmured, eyes scanning Natasha’s body on instinct. “Do you need anything?”

“My wife,” Natasha replied with a smirk, grabbing her hips and tugging her body closer once more, grinning at the squeal her girl let out as she fell.

Y/n raised an eyebrow once she’d recovered, slightly taken aback. “Wife, hm?”

“Is that not allowed?”

“I don’t see a rock on my finger,” Y/n said, wiggling her fingers in front of her face. “But maybe I can make an exception.”

“Oh no,” said Natasha, grabbing the hand in question and pulling it to her lips. “My soon-to-be wife deserves the biggest diamond ring. Jewels fit for royalty, perhaps.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, pressing her back against the couch cushions so she could get a better look at Natasha’s face. “Okay but seriously, is that something you want?”

“Marriage?” Y/n nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. This time it was Natasha’s turn to cup her face, dark bruises a stark contrast to such clear skin. “I want everything with you. Whilst I was away, all I could think about was how I don’t want to waste time anymore. I want to do life with you, forever, as my wife. I don’t want anyone else.”

“I want it too.”

It was all either of them had ever wanted. Stability. A place to call home where the rest of the world didn’t matter. And on the rather small couch of the SHIELD issued apartment, nothing else mattered. There were no deadlines, no meetings, no whining level 1’s who didn’t realise how brutal combat training would be. It was just them, soft touches and slow kisses that melted two broken people into something beautiful and imperfectly whole.

The peace of the lazy cuddles was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Y/n slipped away to answer it whilst Natasha hauled her aching body over to the kitchen. Only now did it register how much her throat and stomach screamed for food and water, and she poured a couple of glasses in the meantime.

The savoury scent of chinese takeout wafted from the bag as Y/n reappeared at her girlfriend’s side, a gleeful smile on her face as she revealed the boxes of noodles and rice dishes.

“You know how to win over a woman,” Natasha sighed as she opened her box of noodles, almost salivating at the smell of warm onions and spices. “And you know me so well.”

“I’d hope so,” Y/n answered, leaning over the counter to grab cutlery. But her journey was cut short when she felt hands on her waist, turning her around and pressing her gently against the countertop. “Natasha…”

The redhead pushed their bodies close, pelvises pressed together. “God, I missed being able to hold you, baby,” she admitted, hands naturally resting on the woman’s hips. “I’m never leaving again.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s a lie.” She pressed a kiss to Natasha’s lips before she could protest and slipped over to the couch, food in hand and a rather eager stomach. “Stop pouting, my love, and come eat.”

It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes now, more towards herself at how easily she folded for the woman in front of her. She didn’t take orders well, but any request from Y/n and she did it without a second thought. Gone were the emotional constraints of the mission, scars of emotional and mental manipulation eased by the mere presence of such a sweet soul. Kind, caring, everything she needed and so much more.

And here she was now, just softly smiling down at her box of fried rice. Natasha had to take a second, chopsticks hovering near her mouth in an attempt to process. Why did she deserve this? Or how, even? The things she’d done, what she’d seen, that didn’t warrant the purity that was sat cross legged on the couch beside her. Okay so maybe she was more shaken up from the interrogation than she’d let on, 18 hours wasn’t enough time to process, but it would take years for her to ever truly realise how deserving she was.

Y/n picked up on her hesitation, calm eyes searching her lover gently. She didn’t need to speak, the tenderness said it all, and Natasha brought her food to her lips, the feeling of home slowly settling into her bones.

Just eating and existing, no talks of missions or combat or the horrors of the job. That would come later, when bruises become exposed after the shedding of clothes, or the screams that accompanied nightmares that would plague the next week. But right now, they were normal. Maybe not by societal standards, but they didn’t need that. They had each other and Natasha was too scared to lose that.

“He’s still mad you left for so long,” Y/n uttered, eyeing the rather grouchy ball of black fur that was curled up on the windowsill.

“He is? Or you are?” Natasha was smug, although it didn’t quite make her eyes sparkle like usual.

“Him, definitely.” Natasha gave her a look. “Okay fine, me too…” her eyes shifted, suddenly interested in a piece of cat hair stuck to the couch cushion. “I just get scared, Nat. I can’t help it.”

Natasha reached out, taking her hand in her own, clasping tightly. Her fingers were cool in comparison and they rubbed over smooth skin carefully. “You know I always come home.”

“But what if you don’t? And I'm left here all alone, with a cat who doesn’t even like me, and-”

“Baby,” Natasha softly interrupted, her voice low and calm. “I’m never leaving you. I don’t care what I have to crawl out of, or blow up, I am always coming home. To you, to Liho, to whatever family we will have in the future.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise. Pinky promise.” Natasha kissed her pinky finger - she was serious. She never meant to cause this much worry, but her girlfriend’s anxieties never truly ceased until she was home and in bed, a physical reminder of safety.

And now, with their fingers intertwined and takeaway packages discarded, a humbling reminder of normality settled across the living space. There was no need to pretend anymore. Their bodies melted together, Natasha’s lazy hands straying under the loose sweatshirt to trace patterns across damaged skin. Steady, slow, a silent mantra. She was here, and she wasn’t leaving again.

She’d built this home and no one was going to take that away.

[sugardollcurse]

god i love the way you write the boys....your dialogue is always so good and characteristic!!!

could i possibly request one where a reader is also a beatle and is in love with one of the boys & he's in love with her too but it's one of those unspoken things they don't acknowledge cause they don't wanna ruin the band and "if it was gonna happen, it would have already." but now with all the stress of the get back era / post-break up, he sort of realizes its now or never and confesses? george or paul seem the type for that sorta thing but idc which beatle truly....whichever one would be most fun for you to write, i just love a good yearning!! if it interests you ofc if not no worries!

𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

꒰ pairing ꒱ george harrison x fem!reader

꒰ summary ꒱ george had been in love with you for years. you’d been in love with him too. but it had always been unspoken.

꒰ note ꒱ thank you so much angel!! and thank you for this beautiful little ache of a request.. i love it so much.. yearning forever and ever!!

You were sitting on the rooftop of Apple Corps, legs swinging over the edge like a madwoman, cigarette tucked between your fingers, breath fogging up in the freezing January air. Below you, London roared and shifted, unaware that the most famous band in the world had just cracked apart.

The wind clawed at your coat, pulled at your hair, but you didn’t move. You were staring at the sky… grey, flat, unforgiving. Just like everything else lately.

“Knew I’d find you up here.”

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

George’s voice was quieter now. Less sure of itself. Not the sharp, smug tone he’d used in ‘64 when you’d all been invincible. Now, it was lower, softer. Like something heavy had settled into his bones and never left.

“Didn’t know you were looking.”

He stepped beside you, the soles of his boots scraping on the rooftop gravel.

“Always do.”

You took a slow drag, let the silence stretch. If you spoke too soon, you might say something stupid. Or worse, something true.

George sat next to you, not too close. Not touching. Never touching. That was the thing about you and him, it had always been like this. Almost. Nearly. Not quite.

You both stared out over the city.

Downstairs, the building still echoed with whatever was left of the band. Someone, probably Paul, was arguing with Glyn again. John had disappeared with Yoko an hour ago. Ringo was politely hiding in the loo.

You and George? You always ended up here.

“D’you remember Hamburg?” he asked suddenly, voice a bit hoarse from the cold.

You let out a small sound. “Christ. I try not to.”

He laughed, the first real laugh you’d heard from him in weeks. “You were always knackered. Couldn’t keep up.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to keep up when you’re playing till three in the morning and getting screamed at by German drunks on your break.”

He smiled at that. “You were better than all of us, even then.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking ash over the ledge. “You’re a shit liar.”

“’M not lyin’.”

Something in his tone made you glance over at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just at the street, his jaw tight, his profile sharp in the dull sky.

“You were always better,” he said again, softer this time. “Smarter. Sharper. Didn’t talk just to hear yourself. And you always saw through all of us.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing.

“I used to think…” He trailed off, exhaling hard through his nose. “Ah, forget it.”

You turned to face him fully. “Don’t do that. Say it.”

George met your eyes. And for a second, everything dropped. The sarcasm. The walls. The careful, polite distance.

You saw it there, plain as day.

“I used to think,” he said slowly, “that maybe, if we weren’t the Beatles, maybe you and me could’ve… I dunno.”

He couldn’t finish it. You finished it for him. “Been something.”

His eyes flicked to yours, surprised. “Yeah.”

The silence now was heavier. More loaded.

You swallowed. “I thought about it too.”

George looked down at his hands. He was fiddling with the cuff of his coat, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“But we were the Beatles,” you said. “And that meant… you couldn’t touch anything without it breaking.”

He nodded. “So we didn’t.”

You bit your lip. “And now look at us.”

George gave a soft, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Funny, innit? Didn’t want to ruin the band, and we ruined it anyway.”

You stared at the skyline, chest tight. “If it was ever gonna happen…”

“It would’ve already,” he finished. His voice was hollow.

You both went quiet again.

But this time, it didn’t stretch comfortably. It ached.

George suddenly stood up, shoving his hands deep in his coat pockets. He looked like he might walk off. Might disappear.

“I don’t want to regret you an’ all,” he said suddenly.

Your head snapped toward him. “George-“

“I mean it.” He was pacing now, just a little. Agitated. That nervous energy he got when he was writing something that mattered and couldn’t get it down right.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it for ages. Maybe years. I dunno. Could be since Hamburg. Or India. Or even earlier. But it’s always been there, hasn’t it?”

You stood, your breath catching.

George met your eyes. “An’ I kept tellin’ meself it was too risky. That if I said anythin’, I’d mess up everythin’. You’d go. Band’d split. People’d blame me.”

A pause.

“But the band’s splittin’ anyway.”

You couldn’t breathe.

George stepped closer now. “So what’s the bloody point in pretendin’ anymore?”

Your chest ached. “What are you saying?”

He looked at you like it hurt. “I’m sayin’ I love you.”

The words didn’t come out perfect. They weren’t romantic or lyrical. They were raw. Ugly with fear.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” he went on, eyes bright. “And I didn’t say it ‘cause I thought I was protectin’ somethin’. But… I dunno.”

You were still frozen.

George’s voice broke slightly. “Say somethin’.”

You swallowed thickly. “I love you too.”

He blinked.

“I never said anything because-“ You laughed, quietly, bitterly. “Because of all the same reasons. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined it.”

“But it’s wrecked anyway,” he said. “So maybe… maybe we start from here… yeah?”

You looked at him, really looked.

The George who stood before you wasn’t the little boy from Liverpool anymore. He wasn’t the cheeky lead guitarist. He wasn’t the shadow behind John and Paul.

He was a man. Tired. Brilliant. Terrified. Hopeful.

You reached for his hand. Slowly. Carefully.

And he took it.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[starlighthosh]

Hoshi tanning his golden hot body sitting at the balcony of the resort in the afternoon and his fiance cant hold back anymore and decide to take him right then and there.

Inspo on hoshi chiseled golden body cus i still cant move on from this moment:

https://www.tumblr.com/mingyuskim/770044685805830144/hoshi-for-spider-2021

YUUUUPPP. 10/10 inspo. MDNI

It’s not my fault you’re so hot - k.sy

extra warning: semi-public/public sex, switchfem!reader, dom!hoshi, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do that), tit sucking, finger sucking, breeding kink

Hoshi was sitting on the balcony of your hotel room, the slow setting sun shining right at him. He was shirtless, trying to get that hot tan. Little sweat pearls rolled down from his forehead and temples.

Even though his eyes were closed, he could feel your gaze starring holes into him. He lowkey flexed his abs, smirking at the tension. That little tease.

He moved his hips upwards to adjust his position, giving you a nice view of his body. You couldn’t help but let out a whimper at his movement. He tried to ignore it, but he could feel his dick hardening in his pants.

You hesitated. Despite that most of the other travelers were getting ready for dinner, there were still a few people at the pool. Not like they could see you, but if you fuck like always, they will definitely hear you loud and clear. Then there were also your neighbors, who can even hear every whisper from you. Oh, and the people from the building across from yours. They would definitely get a nice big show.

Everything screamed don’t do it, but the view next to you was enough to make you cum hands-free. It’s wrong, we shouldn’t do it. Not here you thought to yourself, but the thrill of getting caught turned you on even more.

“Fuck it” you mumbled, walking towards Hoshi and pulling his pants down, just enough for his cock to be freed. Without any warning, you took him into your mouth, sucking on his cock head.

His eyes snapped open, letting out a loud whimper. “What the.. what are you..” he breathed, getting interrupted by you taking him deeper. He grabbed your hair and pulled you away. “What do you think you’re doing? In front of everyone?” he scolded with a strict tone, but his dick betrayed him, leaking pre-cum and twitching on his abs. He was as horny as you were.

“Can I not have sex with my fiancée anymore?” you asked. “But here?” Hoshi gulped. “I guess then we have to be very careful” you teased with a seductive smile. He groaned, but he gave in.

Happily, you took him back into your mouth, now going balls-deep. He threw his head back, his eyes closed and his mouth slowly opened. “You’re so needy” he whispered, guiding your head up and down. His chest heaved with pleasure while you sucked him off like it’s your last meal.

You lightly scraped your teeth on his dick, sending a wave of electricity through his body. He started to quietly moan, the sound echoing in your ears. You could feel his cock starting to twitch inside your mouth.

“Come on baby, take it all. Make me cum inside your mouth” he encouraged you, pushing your head even deeper. His body tensed up, muscles flexing, the sun emphasizing his body just right.

His hips bucked up, moaning breathlessly while he came straight into your mouth. You swallowed every drop from him, feeling the hot juice wandering down your throat.

“You drive me crazy” Hoshi muttered, pulling you on his lap. “Sit on it” he commanded. You looked at him with surprise, your face already fucked out. “What happened with mr ‘but here?’” you teasingly asked. “Do you really think I care about that now, after you sucked my dick?” he snapped back. “Alright, but I’m not gonna hold back” you warned, pulling your panty to the side and sinking down on him.

The feeling making both of you moan out loud. He grabbed your hips and pushed all of him inside you. “I’m also not gonna hold back” he insisted, lifting you slightly, before hammering right back into you. He reached deep into you, his head hitting that sweet spot.

You tried to muffle your moans, but the way he was fucking upwards into you made you loose every control you had. Your hands went down from his shoulders to his abs, your fingers following the lines. “Do you like what you see?” he smirked, flexing his abs even more. You whimpered in response, too afraid to get louder, if you open your mouth.

His fingers found your mouth, his thumb wiping away some cum from the corner off your lip, letting you lick it away. He pushed two fingers deep into your mouth, your tongue swirling around them, looking at him with doe eyes. “Yes, just like that” he breathed heavily.

His dick scraped on your walls perfectly, them clenching around him. Your moans got louder with every second, almost reaching your edge. Hoshi noticed it, certain to make you cum hard.

He pulled your dress down, just enough for your chest to be seen. He took one your tits into his mouth, while he massaged the other one with one of his hands. His teeth slightly bit your nibble, making you gasp loudly.

Before he could go to your other tit, your orgasm washed over you. You clinged onto him, becoming a gasping and moaning mess. He groaned as your cum coated his dick inside of you, going even faster.

“Do you want me to breed you? Let me put a fucking baby into you, hm? Let me cum into your tight little pussy” he hissed. You could feel his dick throbbing, getting closer and closer to his high.

His pace made you see stars, your nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m gonna cum. I will put a baby in you” he exclaimed, before the pleasure reached him too. The cum shot deep inside of you, making you shiver.

Both of you were breathing heavily, you still clinging around his neck. “Do you think anyone heard us?” Hoshi asked. “I hope they liked it” you replied, nuzzling into his neck. He chuckled, then turning you to the side and picked you up in a bride style. “Let’s get cleaned up, it’s dinner time”

[whumpbby]

No no, this is exactly what I was trying to formulate with this post:D

Like, if you think about it, LWJ didn't subvert shit - Wei Wuxian DOES end up being his Madame Lan when in CR. Secluded, separated from others, limited to interacting with her husband and child.... 😶

I think that what disheartens me the most about the endgame wangxian is how much is WWX sacrificing himself to fit with LWJ. Against the "he's the only one who understands me!" and all the indulgence LWJ treats him with, they both sort of seem to be playing parts with each other. WWX of a damsell in distress that big strong Huanguang-Jun must save and care for, and LWJ of a Knight Saviour who will sacrifice everything for his love... And it's just not them. LWJ will not leave his sect for Wei Ying, as much as he plays at doing what his heart tells him, he doesn't want to leave. He's rather keep WWX in a cold, lonely place where he has no friends except for a pair of kids, and no one to be himself with... And he'll believe that their love makes up for it. It's his home, or course WWX will learn to love it - any previous "homes" he might have had were of course terrible, right? No one ver loved Wei Ying before LWJ!

And WWX will pretend that he's happy with that state of things, because they love each other right?! That should be enough!

And they will never fucking talk about it, because that's emotions and a chance of disappointing the other side, and neither of them matured beyond teenage years in that respect - so it will just slowly keep building...

And then - and then WWX will find a Cause to champion and, well, that's where the issues will start for Huanguang-Jun xD

I'd really love to read a fic where a year past the canon ends, Lan Zhan starts to realise that his dreamed-up perfect relationship with Wei Ying isn't what he imagined it to be.

That what he got is actually a wholeass person with imperfections that will get annoying after a while, with opinions that he doesn't agree with and behaviours he's not prepared to just accept. A human person that will lie to keep him happy, that will leave when any possibility of strife approaches, that sometimes doesn't want to have sex - or that sex isn't a cure-all for their problems. That whatever Jiang Cheng experienced growing up with Wei Wuxian will fall on Wangji too, because love doesn't change you as a person in 100%, sorry.

Because that's what think will be a hurdle for him - he never was in a relationship. He never even had real human friends. Fuck, he doesn't seem to have acquaintances. All he ever had was a made-up image of a boy he knew shortly in his late teens and a sect where he was the lauded Young Master everyone respected. He can't stoically stand a kid talking back to him without a silencing spell and has difficulty expressing the most basic things in useful words. For all the soulmate talk, he didn't even know the boy he dreamed building a life with - that Wei Wuxian never existed outside of Wangji's limited glimpses of him and a lot of forgiving assumption.

Like, when will it hit him that Wei Ying is actually a complex human being that isn't just for him to care about and love, and that he himself isn't happy with some things? Will he one night wake up in cold sweat when he finally understands that the man sleeping next to him orchestrated a horiffic surgery on himself and his brother, and never indicated that he regrets it and wouldn't do it again? That the man sleeping next to him kinda-sorta just looked on as people were murdered in front of him, and didn't really have any strong opinion about being brought back via human sacrifice?

Like, discarding stiff and stifling Lan rules after being burned by them is one thing, but this is a moral quandary that goes way beyond that.

[yukioos]

neito who despises class 1-A but secretly admires & slowly develops romantic feelings for reader who's from class 1-A? ever since the sports festival & all that

like he'd be bashing and hating on class 1-A, saying they don't deserve all the hype they're getting but doesn't say a thing once reader is around to hear about it from him + he thinks reader should have been in class 1-B instead

& whatever else you think would be fitting, i love reading your fanfics‪‪❤︎‬

neito who has taken a liking to you, a student from class 1-a

monoma was royally pissed off when he was beaten by a group from class 1-a during the sports festival. his classmates underneath him kept falling, their quirks weren’t as powerful as they normally were, and one of them even passed out, causing them all to topple over onto the ground. he yelled at his teammate to get up, to try harder, because he didn’t know how this happened.

maybe they were just unlucky.

he glanced over at the other teams, who were busy taking each other’s headbands, and he saw you staring right back at him with a slight smile and a mischievous glint in your eyes. he scowled, glaring at you. he remembered your quirk was jinx manipulation, the ability to manipulate and cause bad things to happen to others. when your quirk worked, you always told your opposers, ‘maybe you were just unlucky. it’s not your fault it happened to you.’

once the festival was over and everyone went back to school, all monoma could talk about was you, how ‘annoying’ it was that none of his tactics worked, all because of you and your stupid quirk.

however, he never missed your glares sent to mineta and bakugo, and how they would miraculously embarrass themselves in front of a group of people, or even get a bone broken if they were particularly aggravating. of course, recovery girl would always nurse them back to health without a problem.

monoma supposed you and he shared hatred for some of the people in your class just from the looks you gave the two boys.

whenever you retreated to your dorm after the last period, monoma would always try and make conversation with you, but to no avail. he would constantly complain about it to his classmates, knowing they didn’t care, but he couldn’t help it! you were too interesting, and it frustrated him that you didn’t have time together. you would’ve been an excellent asset to class 1-b, in his opinion.

once, he was in a fight with bakugo in the training center, monoma yelled, “oh, come on, you can’t do better than that? you can’t even control your quirk, what happens when you go haywire and become a villain, huh?”

“shut your mouth, you don’t even have an original quirk! copying other people’s quirks is pathetic!” bakugo screamed, sparks coming from his hands in frustration.

todoroki calmly intervened, “there’s no reason to be arguing about this.”

“you can’t control your fire quirk, so you can’t say anything either!” monoma frowned.

more students began to join in on the argument, mostly from your class because monoma started the fight.

the large entrance door creaked as you pulled it open, you walked in the large building and heard echoes of shouting. familiarly, you recognized bakugo’s and monoma’s yelling. however, when you walked over to the large group, one of the voices suddenly stopped and went silent.

once monoma didn’t have anything to say, bakugo confronted him and smirked, “what’s the matter, cat got your tongue? why aren’t you talking anymore, huh? you sure had a lot to say before, what changed?”

monoma paused for a moment and coldly spoke, “i have somewhere to be.”

he turned around without a word, walking straight in your path. you smiled and walked past him when he spoke, “l/n.” you turned around and tilted your head when he blushed and asked, “how does your quirk work?”

“why do you want to know?” you asked, not replying but instead looking at him with a blank expression.

his eyes slightly widened, he needed to come up with an excuse fast. he stated, “i want to know how your quirk works in case we get chosen for the same agency or if we have to team up to do something.”

you paused for a moment then shrugged, “wish bad luck or good luck for someone and how you want it to happen. if i wished bad luck upon you, i could choose for you to pass out and hit your head on the ground.” you hesitated, “you’d clearly be injured.”

“really? you don’t have to do anything… physical? it’s all mentally controlled?” he raised his eyebrow, crossing his arms as he seemed confused.

“no, i don’t have to do anything… physical.” you grinned. the way he said it the first time made it seem like he was making an innuendo.

“not like that, you weirdo.” the tips of his ears tinted red.

a moment passed before you heard a loud explosion, and orange blasting toward you and monoma. he needed to move out of the way, it didn’t seem like he noticed yet.

he stepped out of the way and began talking to you like nothing happened, but he heard an explosion hit the wall in front of him. there was almost a large hole burnt through it.

he swiftly turned around and shook, seeing a student from class 1-a on the ground, the one who caused the explosion in the first place, bakugo.

mixed thoughts came from each student, one suggested, “maybe he passed out from using too much of his quirk?”

midoriya quickly shot it down, “no, kacchan’s limit isn’t like that at all. he has much power to use before he gets overwhelmed and his quirk stops working. this wasn’t the right time.”

you softly rolled your eyes at how midoriya seemed to shut down the idea. the blonde kn front of you, however, smirked. he teased, “y/n, don’t tell me you’re the one who did that!”

“how dare you accuse me, neito, it could never be me. it’s not like he’s annoying all the damn time and doesn’t ever shut his mouth!” you joked, grinning at how you both shared a dislike for your angry classmate.

a loud whistle echoed throughout the building, and vlad king yelled, “class b! round up, we’re sparring against each other!”

monoma sighed and stated, “i have to go, i’ll see you later.”

you waved and spoke, “i wish you luck, neito.”

he tried to hide the smile that stretched across his face, hiding it with his fist.

it’s safe to say he won every round against his classmates.

decided to make katsuki the hated one because why not? anyway i hope you enjoyed this. i referred to neito as monoma most of the time bc he and reader don’t know each other very well in this fic. i’m so happy you love reading my fics, and i’m trying to write more for neito!

[sodapopkiss6]

Sylus the type of guy to...

Let you put pink ribbons and bows on him, anywhere you want. Of course, at first, he'd laugh at you, amused when you ask. He doesn't get the purpose of it.

You force him down on the bed, undressing him slowly, taking your time to love every inch of his skin. He closes his eyes, a shaky breath escaping him.

You're going too slow. He grips the sheets, but he will try to be patient, to be a good boy, because good boys get rewards.

It takes him a minute to realize he's fully undressed. His skin hot and sensitive under your touch.

His eyes open quickly, though, when he feels the first ribbon. Its softness wrapped around his length, making him shudder. You tighten it just enough and make a cute little bow.

He still doesn't get it, but doesn't comment on it.

And just like that, his body is fully decorated, ribbons wrapping around him from different angles. The last ribbon, you tie it around his wrists, keeping them above his head.

You move back to admire your work. Smiling when you see his dazed eyes and needy look.

Your hand goes to tease his tip, smearing his precum while you slide your hand up and down. The reaction is instant, his hips buck, and he lets out a moan. It's such a pretty sight. You can't help but coo at him.

"You look so cute, I wish you could look at yourself right now" An idea pops into your mind "Actually you could..."

You reach for your phone and snap a couple of pictures. Choosing the best one you show it to him.

"Look at you, don't you think you look adorable?" Your hand resumes its earlier movements.

Sylus whines and nods, barely processing your words.

"Such a cute boy, so pretty." You go down to kiss his chest making him gasp.

"I love you so much, I'm so lucky to have you." Your lips wrap around one of his nipples and you suck.

He whimpers loudly, his chest has always been a sensitive area.

"You're mine, only mine, forever." Your free hand goes to play with his other nipple.

"Say it, say that you're mine, my pretty boy, and that you're worthy of love and kindness"

"I'm y-yours!" He moans,"your p-pretty boy and ngh- I'm worthy of mm! L-love a-and kindness! Mngh 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦" he whines, hips bucking into your hand. He's so close. He can feel the build-up ready to spill over, but something is in the way.

"That's right, so you better not say otherwise ever again," you say, moving up to look into his eyes. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. You're perfect just the way you are"

Your hand that's wrapped around his length stops and tugs at the bow, letting it loose.

"I love you, every part of you, I love the leader of onychinus and Sylus. Because at the end of the day, no matter what name you choose, they're all you"

You lean down to kiss him softly yet passionately. Your hand stroking him faster until his tipping point. It didn't take much. Your words and your body make him fall apart. Only you are capable of this, of making him feel safe while letting go, being vulnerable.

He moans into your mouth, his wrists weakly pulling on the ribbons.

"Shh, it's okay, just breathe," you talk to him softly, guiding him back.

Placing small kisses in between his eyebrows, you murmur praises. Feeling his breathing controlling itself as minutes passed.

Once he was back to his senses, he hummed and squirmed. You quickly free him from the restraints, and his arms wrap around you, sitting up to hold you close. You hear small sniffles and feel something wet fall on your neck.

Rocking him, you hum a gentle melody while your hands rub his back and head. You can't tell how much time has passed, you don't mind, though. You will wait patiently for him just like he does for you.

"Thank you" he whispers, voice raw and vulnerable.

"Anything for you." You press a small kiss on his head.

He moves back to look at you. Eyes red and glassy.

"I love you"

Looking at him fondly, you rest your forehead against his.

"I love you too"

He starts to understand the purpose of the pink ribbons.

I like this one. I think it's cute, ima make a long fic version of it. Need more fics of mc comforting Sylus

[thequietkid-moonie]

can you do poly relationship with ddlc girls x reader?

Poly relasionship headcanons

[ Monika, Sayori, Yuri & Natsuki ]

[ Doki Doki Literature Club ]

This was interesting to write, i have never wrote a poly relasionship with so much people!

The friendship between all of them has been build with time and care after joining the literature club, there has been some problems here and there but nothing that couldn't be solved with talking, the dynamic has been slowly grow to a comforting and peaceful relasionship and, at the end, the love that grow to feel every single one of them for the other felt just as comforting as the friendship

Of course, it was something everyone sit down to talk about and took in consideration, and since you were also the object of their affection you have been taken in consideration in every moment, and despite being everyone willing and happy to be in a relasionship together it took quite a while to get used to be in a relasionship, after all the relasionship have become more intimate, so for the sake of everyone things were happening slowly

Most of the time is either Monika or Sayori the glue for all of them, not that the relasionship couldn't fuction without them but they were the ones who were more interested in having dates in group and making the plans, of course Yuri and Natsuki did have some ideas to where they would like to go in a date but they were a bit more hesitant and flustered at first about the topic

Dates in group where just as common as going in dates and hanging out in pairs, everyone make sure to let the other known that no one was being left behind, that no one was more loved than the others, but since everyone struggle a bit with relating with others (and Yuri and Natsuki are slighly more introvert and reserved) it was for their own comfort to not always being the five together, and to prevent any problem everyone was always notifing the other if just two or even three were hanging out and what they were doing

There are always geatures of love between everyone, small and meaningful gifts, thoughtful recomendation and advices, physicaly affection is not the strenght of anyone aside from Sayori but words love and acts of service never lack between all of them!

Whenever there was a problem everyone made sure to comunicate it, if it was inside of the relasionship it would be a bit of hesitation but at the end everyone sit down to talk it in a peaceful enviroment, after all, all have been the comfort zone of each other for a while now, it was better to take time to sit down and talk to make sure there were no misundertandings and to help each to express themselfs in the best way posible

If any of them were having a problem outside of the relasionship everyone were always there to show support and do everything they could to help, for example Yuri and Sayori are better to comfort with words while Monika and Natsuki are better to do something to help solve the problems

It grew to be something normal that most of the time all of you spend together is more quality time, despite being a relasionship of 5 is quite peaceful and lay back, the love is more discreet but not less meaningful nor less sincere, and more than one any of them have open up in the most peaceful time about how happy the relasionship makes everyone feel, and how the feeling is mutual

[winteringdream]

009. monopoly night

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synopsis : you first meet maki when he sits next to you during a lab practical. despite your best efforts, though, it feels like no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to have any other classes scheduled with him. so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Woonhak and Jihoon exchange knowing grins, their eyes darting between you and Maki like they’re watching a drama unfold live. 

“Y/n, Minji, Taesan. This is my roommate Jihoon,” Woonhak says, gesturing toward his friend. You all greet him politely, and Jihoon smiles as he waves back. 

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm for Monopoly,” you add. 

“No worries,” Jihoon replies, still smiling. “Woonhak’s been meaning to bring his friends over anyway.” 

You unzip your bag and pull out an assortment of snacks. Spicy chips, cookies, a sleeve of Pocky, and two bottles of iced tea.

“Because we lost horribly last time,” you add, nudging Woonhak with your elbow.

“Catan was tragic.” Woonhak groans dramatically.  “We don’t talk about Catan night.”

“You two were so confident.” Minji grins. 

“I blame him,” you say immediately. “I told him we needed to build toward the wheat port and he said, 'Nah, we’re fine.' We were not fine.” 

Maki lets out a soft laugh. You glance at him instinctively, and for a brief second, he’s looking right at you. And then he looks away again, focusing on something else again. 

"This is my friend Maki," Jihoon says, dragging him by his shoulders and pushing him in front of him like he's holding a presentation about him. 

Maki awkwardly chuckles, and greets the four of you. His eyes shoot towards Woonhak, who he feels like you're the closest to. It's weird to feel jealous, but Maki can't help but feel a tiny bit jealous of Woonhak. 

“Okay, no teams tonight,” Minji declares, choosing the dog token and placing it in front of her. “Every person for themselves.” 

You go for the thimble. Woonhak immediately groans. “You always pick the weirdest piece.” “Worry about your own piece.” you say, rolling your eyes as he picks up the hat. 

You settle across Maki on the rug, pretending not to care where he sits, but your heart betrays you with every subtle glance.

“So, who’s first?” Maki asks, casual and calm, his fingers spinning one of the dice slowly between his knuckles. Your mouth goes dry for a second. You reach for the dice, brushing against his hand briefly as you do. 

“Me,” You say it a little too quickly, and immediately feel the heat crawl up your neck. The dice clatter in your hand as you give them a shake, pretending like you’re totally unbothered by how warm your face suddenly feels. It’s definitely not because of Maki.

“Seven,” Woonhak says. “Not bad. Go, go.”

You move your thimble seven spaces, landing on Chance. Taesan reads the card aloud.

Maki’s still spinning the extra die absently between his fingers. He catches you looking, then glances away quickly, scratching at his neck.

Jihoon nudges him. “You’re up.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pretending to be very, very focused on your snack choices. 

Jihoon rolls next. Then Taesan. Then Minji, who immediately tries to buy everything she lands on just to mess with people.

The game picks up speed, the energy growing louder and more chaotic. Taesan spills a handful of play money onto the floor. Jihoon quietly keeps winning auctions. Woonhak keeps laughing at everything.

And in the middle of it, every time you look up, Maki’s already glancing away. Or maybe he was looking first?

The game drags on with loud accusations, wild trades and dramatic bankruptcies. At one point, Minji tries to auction off a property she doesn’t even own, and Woonhak insists Taesan owes him emotional damages for a deal gone wrong.

When you finally land on one of Maki’s hotels and hand over the last of your cash, he whispers softly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you mutter, handing him your last twenty with a smile. 

You slump back, officially out of money. Woonhak goes down next, handing Maki the rest of his railroads dramatically and faceplants into a couch cushion.

Eventually, it’s just Minji and Maki left. 

“That’s it,” she groans. “Take it. Take all of it. I’m bankrupt.”

Maki blinks, like he didn’t expect to win. “Oh. Um… good game?”

You laugh, the sound slipping out before you can stop it. “Why are you so surprised to have won?”

“I didn’t know game night would go like this,” Maki says, and this time, he actually smiles, wide and a little dorky. It’s the first real, full smile you’ve seen from him all night.

You think it’s adorable the way he’s shy, but also happy to have won.

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