#but powers are more secret in that universe

[twilightofthesandwiches]

So, um, I'm sure I'm not the first to notice it but....

I mean, I noticed that track that plays in Hometown near the ending of Chapter 4 musically references "It's Raining Somewhere Else" from Undertale but....... okay, fuck, that name....

Honestly I kinda figured we'd get a track with a name like that in Deltarune and yet it still surprised me regardless???

Like, the implications............. It works super-well with the 'Sans Undertale is actually Sans Deltarune" theories, considering the places "It's Raining Somewhere Else" plays in 'Undertale'

During one of Sans' most sincere and serious scenes in the Neutral/Pacifist Playthrough where he muses about whatever it's worth it to 'go home'

and in his secret workshop, with the strange machine and the hidden Deltarune teaser.

"It's Raining Somewhere Else" is, in that context, the theme of Sans' hopeless already-gave-up-on-it wish to go back to "the place where it rained". To Hometown.

But even without Sans directly travelling from the Deltarune timeline to the Undertale timeline.... Even if we assume that Undertale and Deltarune are parallel but separate lines that never meaningfully interact, the parallel being drawn here is still very emotionally powerful.

The main focus of the Sans' 'date' scene is his story about befriending Toriel behind the door to the ruins and the promise he made to her. They've never seen each other's faces, they haven't even bothered to introduce themselves by name. There is some connection there, but it's blocked by their secrets and obligations and also a giant-ass stone door.

And somewhere else, in another world, it's raining, and Toriel ducks into Sans' grocery store and they spend an entire night drinking and having fun.

A lot of people assumed the rain here is a metaphor for depression and sadness of Sans or Toriel or both. But I think, with that track, it's more likely that the rain is the happy moment and the bond these two share in the Deltarune timeline, somewhere else.

Of course, depending on which ending you get, you can bring the 'rain' to them. Sans and Toriel can meet in the Undertale timeline and become friends and have many happy nights dancing the Jitterbug or whatever. But... they also they might not, depending on the Player's actions before and after this scene. Toriel might even be dead and that 'rain' will never come. And either way, at this moment Sans has no reason to think he will ever get a chance to truly meet the funny lady behind the door.

Is it sadder to think that this is the same Sans who danced with Toriel Deltarune, who probably knows that it's the alternative-universe counterpart of her beyond the door but also think there's little no chance they'd ever meet or relive that connection they had in the Place Where It Rains?

Or if it's sadder if it's a different Sans who doesn't even know there's a version of himself and the mysterious lady behind the door, dancing and laughing and having the time of their life, Somewhere Else?

[heartsiebyul]

Hallo, May I request Malleus x old reader?

Malleus is a Fae, while the reader is a human.

Malleus inevitably watches his loved ones slowly age.

જ⁀➴ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

For As Long As You’ll Have Me

featuring — Diasomnia : Malleus Draconia x old!reader.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

The years had crept by like ivy on stone—slow, quiet, and inevitable.

Malleus did not fear time. As a fae who had lived through centuries, he saw time as a river flowing endlessly forward, but humans like you were fragile boats on its surface—beautiful and brief. Your skin, once smooth and warm like dawn’s first light, had gathered the soft wrinkles of decades. Your hair, once the color of chestnuts in sunlight, was now streaked with silver threads like moonlight woven through silk.

He remembered the day you first met.

It was during your first week at Night Raven College. You had wandered into Diasomnia’s territory by mistake, distracted by the ivy-covered walls and strange quiet. Malleus had appeared before you like mist in the dark—tall, imposing, otherworldly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he’d said, voice calm but curious.

You should’ve been afraid. Most were. But you’d only blinked up at him, wide-eyed and unfazed. There was something in your gaze—a quiet wonder—that made him pause. Made him stay.

In time, you had crossed the boundaries of the fae and the human worlds, daring to love the impossible. You learned to speak the language of magic, and he learned the fragile, fierce beauty of mortal life.

・・・・・

Now, decades later, you sat beside him in your shared garden, wrapped in a soft shawl that smelled faintly of lavender and old books. The same garden where you’d first shared a laugh under the blooming wisteria, where you’d exchanged whispered secrets and promises of forever.

Malleus watched your hands resting in your lap, noting the slight tremor that had come in recent years. He traced the delicate veins that had once been unmarked, marveling at how you still held such strength within your frail frame.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, voice cracked by years and regret. “That I can’t give you forever.”

He reached out, taking your hand with a gentleness that made your heart ache. His fingers were warm, alive with an ageless power that somehow soothed your mortal fears.

“You have given me more than forever,” he replied. “You have given me a lifetime of moments that no eternity could surpass.”

He leaned closer, memories flooding back in a gentle tide: the first time you had shyly touched his cheek, the night you stayed awake with him, tracing constellations on the ceiling of his chambers, the winter morning when you woke to find frost on the windows and a single rose from his garden resting on your bedside and your first kiss was shared beneath a sky full of stars, as if the universe paused just to witness it.

You smiled faintly, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Do you ever regret loving a human? loving me?” you whispered.

Malleus’s gaze deepened, as if peering through centuries and into the very essence of your soul.

“I will mourn you for lifetimes,” he confessed, “and still, I would choose you again and again. Because every heartbeat I have spent with you has been a blessing beyond measure.”

He pressed his forehead gently against yours, feeling the fragile warmth of your breath. Outside, the night was still, the stars bearing silent witness to your shared eternity.

・・・・・

You remembered that summer evening when the world had seemed to hold its breath. You had danced beneath the moonlight, barefoot in the grass, laughing as Malleus spun you around. His horns caught the silver light, and his eyes sparkled with an ancient joy. You had felt immortal in that moment, even though time was a thief lurking just beyond the garden gate.

And now, as your strength waned, he became your steadfast guardian, weaving protective spells around your home, tending your garden with patient hands, and carrying your memories in the depths of his heart.

・・・・・

One day, when your hands no longer had the strength to hold his, Malleus promised he would remain. He would tell your story to the stars, paint your smile on the moon, and wait through ages until, perhaps,

Fate would allow your souls to meet again.

“Even if you must leave,” he said softly, “I will wait for you — through every dawn and every dusk — for as long as you’ll have me.”

You closed your eyes in his arms, comforted by the timeless love of a fae who knew that some things, no matter how fleeting, were eternal.

Writing this hurt me so much I might need a dragon (malleus) to breathe fire on my feelings and burn the pain away. Also accepting hugs, snacks, and anyone willing to cry with me. Send help (and request lol).

[paishoeyeroh]

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Return of the Bound

Chapter Summary: You reach for comfort. It costs you everything.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

TRIGGER WARNING: Thoughts of Suicide

It’s been weeks. Maybe months. Time has blurred at the edges, softened by routine and the quiet hum of someone else’s presence. Megumi’s presence.

He comes over most days now. After class, before work, on weekends. Sometimes he brings food, sometimes just himself. You study together, share the couch, share meals. He’s taken to cleaning up the kitchen without asking. Folding the blanket you forget on the couch. Bringing your favorite tea without needing to be told.

And you let him.

There are moments—small, weightless things—that might pass for intimacy. His hand brushing yours when he passes you a mug. The way he glances at you when he thinks youre not looking. Sometimes, when you can’t sleep, he’ll sit beside you on the bed and read aloud from his textbook until your eyes finally close.

You never ask him to stay, but he does.

Despite all this, you never quite lean in. You don’t reach for his hand, but you never pull away when he takes yours. You let him touch your shoulder, tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but you never mirror the gesture. After every kiss, every close call with intimacy, you turn away. Not abruptly. Not cruelly. Just quietly.

It’s not on purpose. At least, you tell yourself it’s not.

It’s just that you still wear the ring.

Always.

It sits light on your finger. No heat, no hum, no pulse beneath the metal. Just a blackened relic of what once was. A ghost.

Like him.

You should take it off. You’ve told yourself that more times than you can count. But you haven’t.

The sound of quiet dialogue drifts in from the living room. Megumi’s on the couch, legs folded beneath him, a textbook open in his lap. He hasn’t turned a page in a while. The pencil he was holding has stilled between his fingers, his gaze fixed somewhere in the space between the screen and you.

You’re at the stove, stirring the pot slowly, watching steam curl up and vanish into the kitchen air. The smell of simmering garlic and herbs fills the space, warm and familiar. The kind of comfort you’ve been trying to recreate for weeks now. Something ordinary, safe.

You hear the couch creak. Then footsteps. Then arms around your waist, slow and certain. Megumi’s chest presses against your back as his chin rests on your shoulder. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the suddenness of it. Instinctively, you soften, leaning into his hold just enough to make it believable.

“How’s it coming?” he murmurs into your ear, voice low and lazy.

You swallow. “Almost done,” you reply, keeping your tone light.

He hums, warm breath brushing your skin. “Smells good,” he says, nuzzling closer, his lips brushing your neck.

Your pulse flutters, not from excitement, not from warmth, but a tighter feeling. Like a string pulled taut behind your ribs. Still, you don’t move. You let him press a soft kiss just below your jaw. Then another. And another.

When he reaches your cheek, his fingers slide up to gently turn your face toward his. You let him.

His lips meet yours. Soft at first, then deeper, more certain. His tongue slips past your lips, and you let him in, as you always do. Because it’s easier than pulling away. Because it’s expected. Because it’s nice, in a quiet sort of way.

But there it is again. That feeling. That phantom weight. The cold edge of something that doesn’t belong. A hollow echo of someone else’s touch, someone else’s mouth, someone else’s voice whispering breathe in the dark.

You pull back, gently. “The food,” you say quickly. “I don’t want it to burn.”

You feel him hesitate behind you, just a fraction of a second too long. Then he steps back, saying nothing as he returns to the couch.

You keep stirring.

Megumi’s voice cuts softly through the silence. “Wanna watch something while we eat?”

You nod, not turning around. “Sure.”

You exhale, the moment slipping away like steam into the air. Gone, but never unnoticed.

Later, when the apartment is steeped in darkness and silence, you lie awake in bed. Megumi’s arm is draped loosely around your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his legs tangled comfortably with your own. He’s asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Peaceful. Content.

While you are anything but.

Your eyes are open, blank, fixed on nothing. The ceiling is invisible in the dark, but you stare through it anyway, like you’re trying to see something beyond it. There’s that feeling again, quiet but insistent. That low thrum of wrongness in your chest, steady as a second heartbeat. Familiar now. Constant.

Because it should be someone else lying beside you.

You know it’s cruel to think. Unfair. But in the stillness, there’s nothing to distract you from it. It should be someone else—arms like iron, too many of them, wrapped tightly around your waist. His breath should be warm and steady against the back of your neck, his weight pressed fully against you, anchoring you to the bed, to the moment. Not this. Not the soft, gentle comfort of Megumi, who has done nothing but try to love you right.

Carefully, you shift. Megumi stirs but doesn’t wake as you untangle yourself from him and slip out of bed, your movements slow and quiet. The floor is cool beneath your feet as you pad down the hallway into the kitchen.

You sit at the table and do nothing. Just breathe. The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound. Your fingers curl around the edge of the table, not holding it so much as remembering how to hold anything at all. You continue to stare at nothing, letting the quiet settle over you like a second skin.

You rest your elbows on the table, head in your hands, palms pressed against your eyes until they sting. You feel lost. Hollowed out. Being with Megumi should feel right. He’s good. He’s patient. He’s gentle.

And still… it doesn’t.

You hear the faint sound of a door creaking open behind you, the soft rustle of footsteps. You don’t turn. You already know who it is.

Megumi’s voice comes quiet, still heavy with sleep. “Why are you out here?” he asks gently. “Everything okay?”

You stiffen.

You should tell him the truth.

That you’re not ready. That you may never be. That he’s trying to hold something that doesn’t belong to him.

But then his silhouette comes closer, the dim light catching the worry in his face. And you remember how warm his arms felt around you earlier, how steady his presence has been since everything fell apart. And you know what it will feel like to lose that.

So you lie.

“I had a bad dream,” you murmur, not meeting his eyes. “Couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on your face. “Was it about him again?” he asks, voice quieter than before.

You hesitate, but eventually nod.

There’s a pause. Then he exhales, not sharp or irritated, just slow, quiet. His expression shifts, too fast to read in the low light, but something in it falters before he smooths it away.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and takes your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Come back to bed,” he says, soft and steady.

You let him pull you up, let him guide you back through the quiet apartment, back into the bed that still doesn’t feel like yours. His fingers intertwine with yours beneath the blankets. You close your eyes.

And try to pretend you’re not still drowning.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doorbell rings too early.

You shuffle to the door, still in sweatpants and with a towel twisted like a crown atop your damp hair. Nobara stands there, holding a bottle of wine and chewing gum with the smug satisfaction of someone who knows they’re an hour early.

“You’re here already?” you ask, squinting at the sky like it’ll confirm you’ve time traveled.

“Yep. Told those other two idiots to show up later so we could have some girl time first. Before our IQ plummets from being within a ten foot radius of Yuji.”

You huff a laugh, shutting the door behind her. “Well, you could’ve told me. I would’ve put on pants if I’d known.”

She flops onto the couch like she’s done it a thousand times, popping the cork off the wine and pouring into the two mismatched glasses you’ve left out. You excuse yourself to finish drying your hair and pull on something more presentable, then join her a few minutes later, accepting your glass.

The apartment is dimly lit, soft music humming low in the background. For a while, you sip in comfortable silence, Nobara scanning something on her phone as you settle into the armchair across from her.

“So… how are things going with Megumi?”

The question is breezy enough, tossed like popcorn. But you still stiffen for half a second.

“Good,” you say too quickly. “Fine. We’re good.”

She finally glances up at you, raising a brow. Her stare is always a little too sharp, like she’s not seeing your expression, she’s dissecting it.

“Just good?”

You shift slightly in your seat. “Things are fine. He’s been great.”

“You know, you really need to work on getting better at lying,” she says with a smirk, curling her legs beneath her on the couch. “Your voice always goes up half an octave when you’re full of shit.”

You laugh, but it’s more breath than sound. Nobara sips her wine and leans her head back against the cushion, eyes tilted toward the ceiling like she’s debating something.

“Look,” she says, leaning back and crossing her legs. “I’m not trying to pry. I’m just saying. Megumi likes you. A lot. And we both know he’s not the type to waste time on someone he’s not serious about.”

Your chest tightens. You stare down at the rim of your glass, suddenly very interested in the way the wine catches the light.

Nobara shrugs and takes a sip. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll kick his ass. Obviously.” She points at you with her glass. “But if you break his, I’ll kick yours twice as hard.”

The line lands like a joke, but only just. You’re not sure whether to smile or flinch.

“I’m kidding,” she adds, but she doesn’t look at you when she says it. “Mostly.”

“But seriously,” she adds, softer now, “I know I call him and Yuji morons more than half the time, but Megumi’s… great. He’s sensitive. Thoughtful. He deserves the best. So I just want you to be careful with him. That’s all.”

You nod, unable to meet her eyes. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I will.”

She lets the silence settle again, then reaches for her phone and changes the song. The moment passes, and when the next knock comes when Yuji and Megumi arrive, you’re grateful for the interruption.

The front door swings open again, letting in a brief gust of cool air before they step inside. Yuji’s arms are loaded with drinks, and he grins as he heads toward the coffee table to drop them off. You offer a quiet thank you, but your voice is barely above the hum of the music playing in the background.

Megumi brushes past Nobara with a polite nod and moves straight to you, settling onto the couch beside you without hesitation. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his thigh press against yours in the way he always does now, like it’s second nature to him. Like touching you is something he no longer thinks twice about.

He leans forward to grab a drink, the fabric of his shirt brushing your arm as he pulls the tab open with a sharp hiss. He takes a long sip, then shifts back again, his arm draping lazily across the back of the couch, fingertips grazing the curve of your shoulder. It’s light. Barely there. But you feel it like a pulse.

As the evening rolls on, the drinks begin to settle into your system. You feel it in the warmth blooming in your chest, in the way your limbs begin to loosen, your thoughts turning just a bit slower and softer around the edges. The noise of conversation washes over you like a gentle breeze, and you let it happen without really registering the details.

You shift closer to Megumi, your body drawn to his in the absence of anything sharper to cling to. His warmth seeps into your skin, grounding you. Soothing you. In this moment, for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel almost okay.

Maybe you’ve been wrong about all of this. Maybe that sense of wrongness you’ve been carrying was just fear in disguise. Grief. Trauma. Residue from everything you lost. Because right now, here in this quiet bubble of warmth and conversation, Megumi feels like the only thing that makes sense.

You laugh at something dumb that Yuji says, and your hand finds its way to Megumi’s thigh. You don’t even think about it, not really. It just feels… easy. Familiar. His body goes still for half a second, then relaxes again, and he doesn’t say a word.

Later, Nobara and Yuji are mid-argument over something ridiculous, as usual, and your gaze drifts toward Megumi. His eyes are already on you.

The room around you fades into a quiet hum. His expression is mostly blank, a little surprised maybe, like he wasn’t expecting you to look back. You don’t say anything. Just smile, soft and uncertain, your thumb tracing a small, absent-minded circle against the fabric of his jeans.

Megumi clears his throat, looking away after a moment, his lips twitching in something almost like a smile.

A sudden yawn from Yuji breaks the silence, loud and exaggerated. “Alright,” he groans, stretching his arms overhead, “I’m beat.”

Nobara hops to her feet and brushes invisible lint off her jeans. “Yeah, me too. We’ll leave you two to it,” she says, smirking. “But try not to make too many bad decisions. And for the love of god,” she adds, gesturing between the two of you with a mock-serious glance, “leave room for Jesus. Like, a good six feet. Preferably with a Bible between you.”

“Oh my god,” Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stands. “Shut up.”

Their laughter echoes faintly down the hall as he clicks the door shut behind them. The sound lingers a few seconds longer, before fading into the low, familiar hush of your apartment. You hear the soft clink of your wine glass colliding with your ring as you swirl its contents in your hand. The cushions shift as you sink back into them, and Megumi quietly returns to his spot beside you.

He’s relaxed, a little flushed from the alcohol, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch again. You take a slow sip of your wine, letting the warmth that follows seep into your chest, the alcohol humming through your bloodstream like a lullaby and a dare all at once. You’re not drunk. But you’re definitely somewhere in between. Somewhere that feels softer, less guarded.

The wineglass is half empty, and you down the rest in one slow motion, setting it down on the coffee table with a soft clink, firmer than necessary.

Megumi glances toward the sound, but his eyes catch on yours before they can settle. The moment stills. The air thickens, quiet, expectant, and thrumming with something that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it was, and neither of you were brave enough to name it.

You shift toward him, emboldened by the slow, heady warmth of the wine chugging along heavily in your veins. It dulls the edge of hesitation, softens the guilt curling in your stomach. Your hand lifts seemingly of its own volition, but you do nothing to stop it, your fingers brushing the back of his neck, toying gently with the shorter strands there.

You feel the resulting shiver that rolls through him, the way his skin prickles with goosebumps under your touch. His breath stutters, subtle but telling, and still, he doesn’t look away.

“You look good tonight,” you murmur, the words slipping out smoother than they should, perhaps softened by the illusion of warmth beside you. “You always do.”

Megumi blinks, looking surprised by the sudden tenderness. His brows lift, his lips parting like he’s about to say something, but whatever it is catches in his throat, unsaid. Instead, he just watches you, really watches you, his gaze flicking across your face like he’s trying to find the part of you that means it.

You don’t offer him clarity. Just let your thumb trail lightly along the edge of his jaw, brushing beneath his ear. And then, before he can question it further, you lean in, slow and deliberate, closing the space between you until your lips meet his. Softly. Testing. Like you’re not entirely sure what you’re hoping to find.

He stills for half a second, startled by your boldness. But then he kisses you back, slowly at first, like he’s not sure if this is real. His lips are warm, hesitant, but when you don’t pull away, he leans in deeper.

His hand finds your waist, pulling you in, and for the moment, you let yourself sink into him.

Megumi kisses you like he’s grateful for every second you give him—soft, steady, reverent. His other hand rests lightly at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and there’s something so careful about the way he touches you, like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he holds on too tightly.

But something shifts in you. Maybe it’s the drinks. Maybe it’s the weight of loneliness curling up in your chest like a second heartbeat. Or maybe it’s the sudden and unbearable need to feel something. Something more.

Your hands move with purpose, sliding up the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the soft, familiar strands of his hair. You breathe in slowly, deeply, and the air feels different now. It’s thicker, warmer.

Then, with a boldness that startles even you, you shift in your seat, sudden and deliberate. One leg swings over his lap, your weight settling onto him as you straddle his hips.

Megumi jolts beneath you, a low sound of surprise escaping his throat, quickly swallowed when you lean in and catch his mouth with yours again, deeper this time, more deliberate. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, anchoring yourself to the only solid thing in your world right now. Your hips begin to move against his in a slow, searching rhythm, and you feel the way his breath stutters, his chest rising sharply beneath yours as his hands fly to your waist, fingers digging in, gripping you tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible, like the word falls out of him unknowingly. His hips push up to meet yours, and a soft gasp slips from your lips as your forehead presses to his, your noses brushing, your pulses hammering.

For a moment, it feels like you’re burning, consumed by the heat of his body beneath you, the way his hands hold you like you’re something precious, the tension coiling tight in the silence between your heartbeats.

Then, with a smooth, almost startling ease, Megumi moves. His hands grip your hips, shifting you with practiced strength until the world tilts beneath you. Your back hits the couch cushions with a soft thud, the fabric swallowing you whole, and suddenly he’s above you, his weight caging you in. One arm braces beside your head, the other curling beneath your knee, guiding it up around his waist.

For the briefest moment, he hesitates, his face suspended above yours, eyes searching yours like a question lingers there.

Then he lowers.

His mouth brushes your jaw, a breath of warmth that sends a shiver of heat down your spine. His lips trail lower, skimming your pulse, your breath hitching when they find the soft curve of your neck. He lingers there, just for a second, like he’s memorizing it, or maybe savoring it.

“You have no idea,” he breathes, lips brushing your skin as he speaks, voice low and rough and far too sincere, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat.

“Like this,” another kiss, just below your jaw, soft and unhurried.

“Right now.” His lips find your shoulder, the touch featherlight, and you shudder beneath him.

His words swirl around you, slow and thick like honey, but your mind has already begun to drift, spiraling somewhere hazy and quiet and warm.

Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against the cushions, head tilting, baring your throat in silent invitation. His lips trail lower, reverent and unhurried, down the curve of your neck, along the soft line of your collarbone. You feel each breath he exhales, warm against your skin, as though he’s memorizing every inch of you with his mouth.

He presses a kiss to the fabric just above your sternum, then another, lower this time, the heat of his mouth seeping through the thin material of your shirt. Your breath hitches.

Then comes the tug of your zipper, slow and deliberate. The soft pop of the button undone. The scrape of denim giving way to skin.

His fingers curl at your hips, grounding and sure, tugging your pants down with a steady pull, inch by inch, the fabric dragging along your legs. The air bites at your exposed skin in contrast to the warmth of his hands, and a shiver curls its way up your spine.

Because the hands you feel in your mind aren’t Megumi’s.

They’re larger. Rougher. Tatted and scarred.

You try to stay present, to match each press of Megumi’s mouth with a response, but your mind wanders—treacherous, wanton.

You see flashes behind your closed lids, of broad shoulders, dark markings, pink hair falling across crimson eyes that drink you in like you’re the only thing he’s ever truly wanted.

The thought carves itself into you with brutal ease.

It’s him.

It’s his mouth dragging lower, his hands gripping your thighs like they’re something he owns.

It’s him mouthing hot through the fabric of your underwear, shameless and impatient. His breath floods over your skin, searing. The scrape of his teeth against the inside of your thigh makes your back arch involuntarily.

He tugs your panties to the side, baring the part of you that aches most.

The wet drag of his tongue against you makes your hips jolt. You gasp as he does it again. And again.

Your fingers curl into his hair—coarse and thick and unmistakably his—and you tug.

Hard.

A low groan vibrates against your core, muffled and hungry, like it’s been waiting there just beneath the surface.

Your head falls back, breath hitching, the sound of it lost to the rhythm of his tongue.

And then, In the dark behind your eyes, where no one else exists but him…

His name breaks free.

A breathless moan, desperate and raw.

“Yes, Sukuna.”

The name leaves your lips like a confession. And the moment it does, everything falls apart.

The warmth disappears.

The rhythm dies.

The illusion shatters.

Reality slams into you like a fist to the gut.

Your eyes snap open. No red eyes meet yours, because it’s not Sukuna you see. It never was.

Just Megumi. Wide-eyed. Motionless. His mouth slightly parted, like the name he heard is still ringing in his ears.

You feel him retreat before you even register the shift. His hands slipping from your body, the heat of him vanishing like it was never there at all. The cold rushes in to replace it.

Your breath hitches. You sit up, try to speak, but all you can do is sit there and feel the weight of what you’ve just done settle like a stone in your gut.

Megumi sits back on his heels, staring at you like you’ve just struck him across the face.

And then, in a voice so low and strained it barely sounds like him:

“What did you just say?”

His voice is quiet. Too quiet. Not confused, but leveled. Measured. Like someone who already knows the answer but needs to hear you say it anyway.

You sit up quickly, heart in your throat. “Megumi, I—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

His eyes fall shut. He breathes out slowly, the sound sharp with restraint. He nods once, more to himself than to you.

“You know, I thought I could be patient,” he says, cutting you off, his voice low and frayed at the edges. “I thought if I gave it enough time, maybe you’d… see me. Really see me.”

He stands, pulling his shirt down over his stomach, brushing his hair back with a trembling hand as he reaches for his jacket on the back of the couch. The soft shuffle of fabric is the only sound between you. You want to say something, anything, but your throat is dry, tight, useless.

“I know I’m not him,” he continues, tugging on his sleeve with a bitter laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But I thought maybe… maybe that didn’t have to matter.”

His keys jingle as he grabs them from the coffee table. He doesn’t look at you when he says, “But it does matter. And I think you knew that the whole time.”

You flinch.

He walks to the door, pulls it open. For a moment, he hesitates on the threshold. The light from the hallway spills in around him, casting him in a pale, hollow glow.

You don’t stop him.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

The door closes with a soft thud behind him.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It’s been six days since Megumi walked out your door. You haven’t heard from him since.

You told yourself you’d give him space. You figured he deserved that much, at the very least. But space is a strange thing when you’re the one left behind. It doesn’t feel like something you’re giving. It feels like something that’s been taken from you.

But the next day, when the ache grew too sharp to ignore, you found yourself hovering over your phone, writing and deleting a hundred different versions of the same message.

What do you even say, when you’ve used someone you care about? When you’ve taken their affection, their patience, their hope, and crushed it under the heel of your own loneliness?

You settled on the truth, or at least the closest thing to it.

Hey. Can we talk? I really owe you an apology.

You weren’t expecting much. Maybe silence. Maybe anger.

But several hours later, his response came.

I really just need some time to process things. Sorry.

Short. Polite. So painfully Megumi.

You sat there staring at the words, the guilt sinking into your bones like cold water. You’d read the message three times, each pass twisting the knife a little deeper. He hadn’t said anything cruel. Just that he needed time.

And the truth is, you had no right to feel hurt. None at all.

It wasn’t Megumi’s fault. It was yours. You were the one who’d blurred the lines, who’d let your body write checks your heart couldn’t cash. You were the one who’d said the wrong name.

But still, the loneliness clawed at you anyway.

It pressed in at night, when the silence became unbearable, when you reached out for something, someone, and found nothing. The same loneliness that had driven you to him in the first place. The same ache that made you chase any warmth that wasn’t your own. And now, with no one left to cushion the fall, it grew sharper. Hungrier. More desperate.

You tried Nobara next. Something simple.

What's up?

Delivered.

But not read.

You stared at the little gray text under your message, willing it to change, to light up with that small but comforting “read” receipt. But it stayed the same, untouched, ignored.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Nobara was always busy. Classes, work, a packed social life. It wasn’t unusual for her to take a few hours to respond.

But deep down, you knew this was different. Nobara never left you hanging this long. Not without a reason.

You think back to her voice, still vivid in your memory, sharp and protective.

If he breaks your heart, I’ll kick his ass. But if you break his, I’ll kick yours twice as hard.

Maybe she already knows.

Maybe Megumi told her everything.

Or maybe… he didn’t need to.

Either way, the silence hangs there like a verdict. Cold. Heavy. Unforgiving. It speaks louder than any accusation ever could.

You give it another day. Another long, hollow stretch of time where the hours bleed into each other, and every minute feels more agonizing than the last. Another night lying awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the quiet slowly presses in, the walls around you seeming to inch closer with every passing hour.

Eventually, you cave. You try Yuji.

Hey. What are you up to tonight? Wanna do something?

You send the message and set your phone down, but you don’t look away. You just sit there, watching the screen like it might blink back at you, like maybe the act of staring hard enough could make the reply come faster.

It takes him an hour to answer. The longest hour of your life.

When the notification finally buzzes against your palm, your heart leaps in your chest, too fast, too eager. But it plummets just as quickly when you read the words.

Sorry, I can’t tonight.

Polite. Kind. No edge to it. No bitterness. Just soft, gentle rejection.

Just like Megumi.

Just like Nobara.

Just like everyone else who seems to be slipping quietly out of your life. One well-meaning excuse at a time.

Your chest tightens. A sharp, breathless panic prickles under your skin.

Without fully thinking, you reach for your coat, shrugging it on with unsteady fingers. Your legs carry you out the door before your mind can catch up, like your body already knows what you need before you’ve decided it yourself.

The cold evening air bites at your cheeks as you step outside, the sting of it a strange relief after the thick, suffocating silence of your apartment.

Your feet move on instinct, following the familiar path down your block. The bookstore is only a few blocks away, tucked just down the street from the cafe.

It’s quiet there. Warm. Tucked away like a secret, always dimly lit and gently buzzing with soft background life. Full of people you don’t have to talk to. Full of movement and breath and hum. Life you can sit near without having to participate in it.

It’s perfect.

You cut through the park on your way, your shoes crunching over the brittle, frost-tipped grass. The cold gnaws at your fingers, even buried deep inside your pockets.

By the time you reach the bookstore, your breath is tight in your lungs. You slip inside, shrugging off your coat, letting the warmth wrap around you like a second skin. You wander aimlessly at first, running your fingertips along the spines of books without really seeing them.

Eventually, you grab something off the shelf, some novel with an intriguing cover, and make your way toward one of the old lounge chairs tucked into a shadowed corner. You sink into it, curling your legs beneath you, the book heavy in your hands.

You try to read.

You really do.

Your eyes move across the page, trying to latch onto the words, but they blur almost immediately, slipping out of focus like water down glass.

You read the same paragraph once. Then again. By the fourth time through, none of it sticks. You couldn’t name a single character if your life depended on it.

With a quiet sigh, you snap the book shut, the sound louder than you mean for it to be in the still hush of the store. Frustration prickles behind your eyes. You slip your phone from your pocket, thumbing the screen without purpose, hoping the mindless scroll might take the edge off.

That creeping numbness returns, long familiar by now, coiling up your spine like a second skin.

Your heart stutters.

Nobara’s name flashes across the top of your screen. A new story. Posted just minutes ago. You open it. The photo fills your screen.

Nobara’s legs are stretched out in front of her under a restaurant table, a messy bowl of ramen halfway into frame. Across the table, you can just make out two familiar figures. Yuji’s bright hoodie. Megumi’s slouched shoulders, his hand curled loosely around a pair of chopsticks.

Their faces are cropped out, but you don’t need them. You know them like you know your own name.

They’re together.

All of them.

Without you.

Your throat tightens.

You swipe out of the story quickly, shoving your phone back into your jacket like it burned you.

The bookstore around you hums softly with life—pages turning, quiet conversations, the low buzz of music overhead.

You sit there, curled into yourself, the book forgotten in your lap.

They’ve moved on, you think.

And I’m still here. Stuck.

Alone.

Again.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The sun sinks low beyond the window, bleeding dull orange into a sky already choked gray. The trees outside are completely bare now, stripped by winter, their branches clawing upward in stark, desperate shapes. The grass below them is dead too, yellowed and brittle, blanketing the earth like a faded memory.

The television hums in the background, volume turned so low it’s barely more than a murmur, not for entertainment, not even for distraction anymore. Just… noise. Noise to fill the unbearable quiet.

You sit curled into the corner of the couch, a blanket draped over your lap, your gaze unfocused and heavy. You’re not really watching the TV. You’re not really watching anything. Your eyes are turned toward the window, following the sinking sun as it dips lower, sliding behind the twisted spines of the trees.

Outside, the city still lives.

People pass by bundled in heavy coats, breath puffing white into the frigid air. Laughter rises faintly from the sidewalk, high and bright. Footsteps scuff across the pavement. Someone calls out to a friend, their voice lost to distance. Another couple walks past, hands entwined between them like they have all the time in the world.

It’s Friday night.

The world is moving on without you.

And here you sit. Still, hollow, forgotten.

It’s been weeks since you’ve spoken to Yuji, Nobara, or Megumi.

Longer still since you felt anything close to normal.

You catch glimpses of them sometimes. Especially Megumi. Passing glances between classes, moving through the same hallways. But it always ends the same way, a momentary meeting of eyes, a tight, polite smile, and then he looks away.

Like you’re just another face in the crowd.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

In the beginning, it hurt—sharp and sudden, a raw, twisting thing in your chest that knocked the breath from your lungs and left you reeling. Every glance they didn’t spare, every conversation you weren’t part of, carved a little deeper.

But now?

Now it’s different.

The pain has become quieter. Numb around the edges. A dull ache that no longer startles, only lingers.

You understand.

You accept.

What you did was wrong. All of it. There’s no justifying it, no excuse that softens the blow.

Some people in life are just better off alone.

Maybe you were always meant to be one of them.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, burrowing deeper into the cushions as if you could fold yourself small enough to disappear completely. But no matter how small you make yourself, the loneliness finds you. It presses in from all sides, cold and gnawing, whispering all the ways you’ve failed, all the ways you are impossible to love, to keep, to stay for.

Especially on nights like this.

Especially on Fridays.

A year ago, you would’ve been out by now, crammed into Yuji’s car, laughing at Nobara’s comments on his driving, weaving through city streets to whatever dive bar promised cheap drinks and bad karaoke.

You would’ve been living.

But tonight?

Tonight you sit here, a shell of the person you used to be, with nothing but your own miserable thoughts for company.

And the longer you sit, the louder they become.

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over Megumi’s name first. You close your eyes, pressing the device against your chest for a beat.

No. He’s the last person you should reach out to. He deserves better than your selfishness.

You shift to Yuji’s name next, staring at it until the letters blur.

Yuji, who always had a smile for you, even when your world was crumbling. But even he had pulled away that night at the bar. Even he hadn’t wanted to be dragged into this mess. And you can’t stand the idea of seeing that disappointment reflected in his face too.

Which leaves…

Nobara.

Nobara, who had once grabbed your hand during a horror movie and whispered, “if we died first, it’d be because you tripped over nothing, you idiot.” Nobara, who used to yank you out of bed for coffee runs, complaining the whole way.

Nobara, who had warned you. Who had promised she’d kick your ass if you broke Megumi’s heart.

Your chest tightens.

But desperation is a cruel, stupid thing.

And you are so, so desperate.

You type it out before you can talk yourself out of it.

You busy? Wanna hang out?

The screen stays blank for what feels like hours. You’re about to lock the phone, about to pretend you never sent it at all, when her reply comes.

I think it’s better if we don’t. I’m sorry.

That’s it. No elaboration. No anger, no cruelty. Just cold, clean indifference.

It feels like someone reached into your chest and twisted.

You stare at the screen. At the cold finality of it.

I think it’s better if we don’t.

It loops in your mind, again and again, until it’s not even words anymore. Just shapes, just sound. Until it carves a hollow into your chest so deep you can barely breathe.

You set the phone down carefully. Like it’s something fragile.

You sit back against the couch, blinking numbly at the dark window, the low flicker of the television painting the walls with restless, meaningless colors. And for a moment… just a moment…

You think you can handle it.

You think if you stay very, very still, you can hold yourself together. But the silence is a scream inside your skull. The loneliness gnaws at the edges of your mind like teeth.

You did this. You ruined it. You pushed them all away. No one’s coming to save you this time. You’re exactly what you were always meant to be. Alone.

The thoughts are sharp, serrated, ripping through the thin skin of your composure until you’re shaking. Until the walls feel too close, the air too thin. Until you can’t sit here a second longer without losing your mind.

You lurch to your feet. The blanket slides from your lap and pools onto the floor unnoticed.

You’re moving before you even know what you’re doing.

You slide your coat on almost manically, heart pounding against your ribs.

The walls feel like they’re closing in by the second. The ceiling pressing lower. The silence screaming in your ears.

You shove your feet into your sneakers without tying them, jam your hands into your pockets, and wrench the door open.

The night slams into you in a single gust, icy and sharp, stealing your breath.

You zip your jacket up to your chin as you descend the stairs two at a time, each step a desperate escape.

You don’t know where you’re going. Everything’s closed by now anyway. But you walk, driven by a single, unbearable truth.

You can’t stay there. Not for one more second.

The park is colder than usual, stripped bare for winter. The skeletal trees rattle like old bones against the dark sky. Dead grass crunches beneath your shoes, brittle and tired.

The wind hums low and constant, weaving through the empty spaces like it’s mourning something.

There’s no laughter.

No children.

No life.

You follow the winding path, not rushing, not thinking. Just moving.

There’s no one waiting for you.

There never was.

The dull ache in your ribs reminds you you’re still healing. Still broken in ways that stitches can’t fix.

You pass the cafe where you were supposed to meet Megumi. The day that everything changed.

It’s dark now.

Empty tables stacked against the windows. Chairs flipped upside down. Closed for the night. Right now, it feels closed to you forever.

You keep moving.

The bookstore’s next. Once warm, once buzzing with life. The windows are dark. The displays are hollow. Your reflection flashes ghostlike across the glass before disappearing.

You pass a few people along the way. Coats buttoned tight, scarves wrapped to their noses. All of them walking fast, heads down, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.

No one sees you.

No one ever does.

The sidewalk ends, and you find yourself crossing into the suburbs.

The city hum falls away behind you. The houses here are quiet, windows lit up like soft islands against the dark.

You pass a pond, a black mirror frozen under the weight of the sky. You barely notice it. Your legs move on their own now. Like they remember something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

And then, you stop, breath steaming in the cold air. You lift your head, realizing where your feet have taken you.

The bridge.

It stretches out ahead of you, wide and yawning, carrying four lanes of road across the vast, slow river below. Massive concrete railings run along either side, their tops slick with frost.

There are no streetlights in the middle stretch, only at either end, leaving the center shrouded in thick darkness.

The river beneath is endless and black, moving heavy and slow, refusing to freeze despite the bitter cold.

You know this place.

Your body knows it.

Your blood knows it.

The place where you lost him.

Your steps are slow, hesitant.

The rubber soles of your boots scuff softly against the concrete sidewalk, each step swallowed by the vast, open quiet.

Snow begins to fall—thin, white specks drifting down like ash. It settles over the bridge, over you, muting even the low hum of the distant city behind you.

The world grows quieter. Solemn.

Grieving, just like you.

Your pulse thrums hollow against your temples as you make your way toward the middle, the darkest part of the bridge, the place where your world ended once already.

The barrier where the tire marks have long since faded, but never from your memory. You stop, hands finding the cold concrete railing, gripping it without thinking. It’s been repaired since then, scrubbed clean of the scars.

As if pretending could erase what happened here.

You lean forward, peering down into the slow, black river below.

It moves sluggishly under the bridge, dragging broken branches, bits of debris, all the forgotten wreckage of the world along with it.

Going nowhere.

Going everywhere.

Your breath curls out in front of you in thin, fragile wisps.

You close your eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not with him. Not with Sukuna. Not with anyone. You fight the sting rising behind your eyelids, nails digging into the railing.

Why does everything you touch fall apart? Why are you always the one left standing on the edge, watching it all wash away?

The wind cuts sharper now, slicing through your coat, through your skin.

You blink open your eyes, staring down at your hands, at the numbing white creeping up your fingers.

And at the ring.

The thing that started it all.

You stare at it, the blackened surface catching no light, no life. You remember the way it had called to you. The way it had gleamed red and pulsed softly against the velvet of that forgotten box in the old study. How it had fit your finger so perfectly. How it had lived against your skin, beating in time with your own fragile heartbeat.

Binding itself to you.

What a stupid, foolish girl you were.

You should have left it there. Left it to rot. Left it to someone else’s ruin. But if you had…

You never would have met him.

Sukuna.

With his rough voice and sharp grin. With the four strong arms that had once gathered you so gently against him. With the eyes that, beneath all their hardness, held something more. Something he didn’t want you to see. Something he gave you anyway.

You close your fingers around the ring, feeling its dead weight in your palm.

At first, the urge rises to throw it, to hurl it as far and fast as you can into the water. But then you stop. Because what would that change? Whether it sits heavy in your hand or sinks to the bottom of the river, the result is the same.

Your friends aren’t coming back.

He isn’t coming back.

Sukuna isn’t coming back.

You lean further over the railing, the ice-coated metal biting through your coat, through your skin, deep into the aching bones of your ribs.

The river yawns wide below you, dark and cold and endless.

You stare into it, heart pounding out a slow, despairing rhythm.

And for the first time, the thought slips through the cracks.

Maybe it shouldn’t just be the ring.

Maybe it should be you too.

You curl your fingers tighter around the railing, the thought growing heavier, louder.

After all, you think numbly, what difference would it make?

Dead things belong together.

Everything is still. So still it almost hums.

But then the air shifts.

Not enough to move your hair or rattle your coat. Just enough to press against you differently. Sharper. Denser. Colder.

You barely register it at first. Just a creeping chill at the nape of your neck. A slow trickle of goosebumps rising along your arms. A tightening in your chest. You think it’s the cold. Or your thoughts. Maybe both.

Your stomach turns, and you bow your head, letting the numb wind slip beneath your coat and bury itself into your skin. You’re too tired to shiver.

“You can’t be serious.”

You freeze.

For a long moment, you don’t move, don’t breathe, your fingers tightening against the cold railing until the metal cuts into your palms. Your eyes snap open, staring blindly at the sluggish river below, but you don’t really see it anymore.

Because you know that voice.

Low. Rough. Mocking.

You’ve heard it in your dreams, in the corners of rooms, in the quiet spaces between heartbeats.

You’ve heard it in the silences that have stretched out endlessly in your isolation.

But hearing it now, out loud? It can’t be real.

You turn. Slowly.

So slowly it feels like it takes an eternity for your body to listen to you, for your feet to pivot and your chest to twist toward the bridge.

And then you see him.

Or… you think you do.

Only feet away, standing solidly against the backdrop of the frozen world, is someone who looks so much like him it makes your heart lurch violently against your ribs.

But it can’t be him. Because he looks… different.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

“S—Sukuna…?” you breathe, the name tearing itself loose from your stunned lungs.

He’s still freakishly tall, towering like a storm cloud, but he’s clearly changed.

The sharp tattoos still mark his skin, familiar in their dark, sweeping lines. But his face is no longer split by extra eyes or twisted in that demonic grin.

Just two eyes. Two arms. No monstrous limbs, no ceremonial robes, no crackling aura that presses against your lungs like a curse.

He’s wearing jeans. A black shirt. A long, dark trench coat that flutters slightly in the night wind.

If you’re hallucinating, you think distantly, your heart pounding violently against your ribs, this has to be the stupidest thing your brain has ever conjured.

He takes a slow step forward, the heavy fall of his boots muted by the settling snow. His chest is rising and falling like he’s just sprinted here, his skin kissed red from the cold, his pink hair sticking up more wildly than you remember.

His eyes catch the light as he steps closer.

And they’re not red anymore.

Instead a deep, dark brown, nearly black in the weak glow of the streetlamp.

Still sharp, though. Narrow. Irritated.

But beneath the familiar edge of annoyance, there’s something else. A stiffness in his jaw, a flicker behind his gaze, like he’s holding something back.

Not just anger, or frustration. It simmers deeper than that, caught somewhere between fear and something far more volatile.

When he speaks again, his voice is low, cutting.

“I gave you a second chance at life,” he snaps, eyes flashing, “and you’re just going to throw it away? Are you stupid?”

You can only stare at him, reeling—like your brain is still catching up, scrambling to make sense of a reality that’s suddenly cracked open at the seams.

He’s real. Here. Solid in front of you. And nothing makes sense.

Your feet move before your thoughts do. A step closer. Then another. You just need to see him, closer. Need to look at him and understand.

His brow furrows as you approach, a deep crease forming between his eyes, like the very sight of you touches something raw in him. And then, his mouth twitches. Not into a smile, not even close. Just a crooked, brittle curve.

“What,” he says, voice rough, scraping against the frozen air, “no warm welcome, princess?”

The words hit something inside you. Something jagged.

You don’t know what breaks first. The disbelief, the ache, or the fury.

Your hand moves before you’ve even made the decision. Reflexive. White-hot.

The sound of the slap cuts through the silence, sharp and ringing in the winter dark.

Sukuna’s head jerks slightly to the side from the force of the slap, and for a moment, the world just… pauses. The silence afterward is almost deafening. He blinks, slow, as if processing the sting spreading across his cheek, his hand rising to his mouth. When he pulls his fingers back, there’s blood on them. He must’ve bitten his tongue.

Good.

Your chest is heaving. Your palm burns.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

Not the way his expression falters, more shock than fury, his eyes dropping to the smear of red on his fingertips like he can’t quite believe it’s there.

For a moment, the world holds its breath. Neither of you moves.

Then he tilts his head slightly, tongue swiping the corner of his mouth. He turns and spits the blood into the snow beside him, casual and careless, like it’s nothing.

The crimson splatter cuts sharp across the white, stark and ugly.

“No warm welcome?” you echo, voice low and shaking. “Seriously? That’s what you expect from me after everything that’s happened?”

He snorts, scoffing under his breath. “So this is the thanks I get for coming here.” His voice is rough, thoroughly irritated. “You’re lucky I came back at all—”

You laugh, sharp, bitter, disbelieving. He lifts his eyes again, mouth parting like he’s ready to snap something else back, but you’re already moving.

“Lucky?” you spit again. “You think I’m happy to see you? You think this is some kind of fucking relief?” Your voice rises with every word, sharp and trembling with heat. “Do you have any idea what you left behind? What you put me through?”

You shove him. Hard.

He steps back, just slightly, more surprised than unsteady.

“You disappeared,” you go on, voice rising, “You left me to suffer, to fall apart, to take the blame for the mess you made!”

Another shove. He doesn’t move this time.

“You ignored me for weeks, let me believe you were dead, or gone, or—” your throat tightens, but you force the words out, each one heavier than the last. Your fists press against his chest, firm, deliberate strikes, punctuating and raw with frustration, as if you’re trying to hammer your words into him. “You think this is what I wanted? You think if you had just talked to me, just once, like a normal fucking person, I would’ve ended up near that explosion? You think any of this would’ve happened?”

He stands there, impassive, letting you scream, letting you hit him. Like he knows you need it.

“No! And you expect a god damn thank you, when this is all—” you hit him again, hard, your fists trembling now, “—your fucking fault!”

You raise your hand to strike again but it never lands.

He catches your wrists, effortless, firm. His grip is tight, holding you in place. You’re breathing hard, chest heaving, your face hot despite the freezing air, your eyes stinging. You try to pull away, but he doesn’t let you.

You freeze in his grip, breath stuck somewhere between your lungs and throat. Not because he’s hurting you. But because you’re bracing for it anyway. For retaliation. For something cruel. For the explosion you’ve been walking toward ever since you first laid eyes on him again.

But it doesn’t come.

He just… stands there.

Straightens to his full height, towering over you, the cold settling deep into his gaze like frost spreading across glass. It’s that look, the one you’d grown used to. The one that always made you feel small, like he was staring at something weak, pathetic, breakable.

Your jaw tightens, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Then his voice cuts through the night, low and bitter.

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who fucked up.”

You blink.

“I didn’t force you to put that ring on,” he goes on, each word clipped and cold. “I didn’t make you bind yourself to something you didn’t understand. That was your choice.”

You try to wrench yourself out of his hold, but he tightens his grip.

“And when your little friend found out,” his mouth curls around the word with disdain, “you’re the one who decided to keep me around. So don’t stand there acting like this was all me. You knew what this was from the start.”

“Let go of me,” you growl, your voice shaking now with more than anger.

He doesn’t. Just looks at you, tilting his head slightly.

“Why?” he says, tone slipping into something even darker. “So you can take a swan dive into the river like your other little boyfriend did?”

The words land like a slap. Cruel. Calculated.

Your stomach lurches, your blood going ice-cold.

“That’d be kind of poetic, don’t you think?” he adds, voice low and sharp. “End where it all began.”

You snap.

With a violent lurch, you slam forward into him, closing the space between you, pushing hard against the unyielding wall of his chest.

“Fuck you,” you spit, each word a loaded bullet.

His eyes narrow, breath ghosting against your cheek.

His jaw ticks.

It’s the only warning you get before his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s reminding you how easily he could crush your wrists in his hands. You flinch.

His eyes bore into yours, black and bottomless in the dark, like they might swallow you whole. You think you see something in them, rage, yes, but something else, too. A hunger.

You’re both breathing hard, like you’ve just been dragged from the bottom of the river. Your pulse thunders in your throat, and still, he says nothing. Just stares. Unblinking. Furious. Alive.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this in so long. Not the ghost in your dreams. Not the cruel specter in your memories. But real. Tangible. Right in front of you, gripping your wrists like a lifeline and a threat all at once.

And suddenly, it’s all too much.

The silence. The months of torment. The dreams. The guilt. The abandonment. The longing. It builds to a fever pitch inside you, pressing against your ribs, clawing up your throat, demanding to be released.

“Say something,” you growl, your voice fraying at the edges. “Say… say it was all worth it. Say you meant to disappear. Say I meant nothing.”

He doesn’t answer. His nostrils flare. His chest rises and falls, ragged and uneven.

“Say you didn’t feel anything,” you snarl, “when I was dying in your arms.”

A sound rips from his throat. Raw, guttural, feral.

Then he surges forward, hauling you forward with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. One of his hands releases your wrist, only to twist into your hair, fingers burying deep at the base of your skull. He yanks you toward him harshly, like he’s unraveling, like something inside him has finally snapped.

Your eyes fly wide and you tense in his hold, your lips a breath from his, but he doesn’t move to close the distance.

He just stares.

You’re so close, you can see the faint tremble in his jaw. The fog of your exhale mingles with his, curling together into a single, shivering cloud of warmth in the cold night air.

The moment stretches, heavy and taut, balanced on a knife’s edge. His breath skims your cheek, and you feel the faintest tremor in his grip, clearly fighting himself even now, teeth grit with restraint he’s seconds from losing.

An involuntary sound escapes your throat. It’s quiet, broken, needy.

Sukuna’s jaw tightens.

And then the restraint shatters.

He crashes into you, mouth devouring yours just as you rise to meet him, caught in the same desperate pull. It’s a kiss that’s not gentle, not sweet, just raw need poured into flesh and teeth and heat. Fury, longing, ache—it’s all there, burning through every touch, every frantic slide of lips and tongue.

The cold, the grief, the silence, none of it matters now.

It all vanishes the moment your mouths meet.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

☰ Taglist: @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @after-laughter-come-tears @rizzyjuney609 @prezzleyy @mistalli

[fictionalcreator]

Thought of the line "drunk in Paris" and my brain auto-generated a RokCale fic hear me out

So, we all know that Kim Rok Soo is the absolute king of understating things, yeah? And Cale was deliberately acting like trash to draw attention / make his family look better by comparison / something along those lines, yeah?

So, In a modern AU, Cale (who's probably the son of an old money British noble house in this universe) goes on an expensive trip across Europe, because every trashy rich kid takes a "gap year" to fuck around in Italy or Spain or some such, possibly ending up on the news for something dumb. Perfect Cale territory. By the time he's done, everyone's gonna think his family are saints for putting up with him.

Of course, when he goes to France, classic Wine Country, he has to test his limits (with the best vintages money can buy, of course). Does he actually genuinely get trashed? I say yes because I think he needs at least one pathetic wet dog moment but in the end it's irrelevant because the POINT is that he ends up meeting (and sleeping with) this random guy from Korea who happens to be there on a business trip. Also, random Korean man is hot as hell, to the point where Cale-fucking-Henituse feels jealous, and despite this, this guy seems to think he's not hot?? Because of the scars??? Bitch, please, says Cale, perhaps more out loud than he meant to.

Despite that guy's pecs being sculpted by god himself, in the morning, post-nut, generally more sober, and depressingly alone, Cale still regrets it a little. After all, for everything he does, he's not in the habit of running around breaking hearts, nor does he particularly want to have "he's a slut" appended to his already seedy reputation. Random people looking for fights? He could deal with that. Random people looking for sex? Yeah, no.

(And of course, his distaste for the idea has nothing to do with any silly romantic dreams of waking up next to the same person every day, arms wrapped around each other as you whisper sweet nothings in the other's ear. Pfft—of course not.)

He'll just have to hope that no one saw him sneak off with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, and that this guy doesn't tell anyone about it.

Well, Mr. Mystery Hunk did say he was just there for a brief business trip. Cale doesn't have any reason to go to Korea, so they probably won't see each other ever again...

Well, some time later (idk if it would be funnier if it's like, the next day or several years), Cale meets Choi Han and ends up goading him into a fight. Choi Han, of course, hands his ass to him, and Cale gets sent to the hospital.

Only, while Cale's recovering, who else comes to visit but, surprise surprise, Mr. Beefcake himself, who's name is actually Kim Rok Soo (or some kind of pseudonym!). It turns out that Choi Han is Mr. Kim's subordinate? (we're pretending Choi Han was born later than in canon or something roll with it) And it turns out that the "business" that Kim Rok Soo came to Europe for...actually involves Cale?

Well, Cale's mom, at least.

Apparently, there's a secret international group working to sow war, famine, and terror around the world, and to accomplish some unknown objective (world conquest) they're looking for something left behind by one Jour Thames (among other mcguffins [ancient powers], but the org. that KRS belongs to actually managed to track down someone [Cale] who might know where this one is).

Kim Rok Soo is working for another secret organization, who are working to take the villains down. The head of the organization's most powerful and influential Team 1? That is, of course, Kim Rok Soo. (I'm thinking that the head, on paper, would be Eruhaben, since he would be a ridiculously rich old man in this AU)

Mr. Kim himself doesn't appear to regard this as a big deal, making him that much more terrifying of a person to talk to.

What exactly did Jour leave behind? Does magic exist in this AU?? How exactly did Cale get Kim "no thanks" Rok Soo to fuck him??? idk this was as far as my brain got

[pantsless-ghost]

See9ng "Nightwing competing in the Olympics" posts have made me think.

In worlds with superpowers, would people with powers be allowed to compete, or would their powers count as an enhancement. Like people with biological advantages like that swimmer with the weird joints and not making as much latic acid, but you don't have like actual superspeed in real life.

In DC and Marvel would the be testing for meta/mutant genes? Would you ho in thinking you are an average human only to find out you have this unexpressed gene like those women who suddenly find from the testing that they're XY chromosome.

Or would teams be after people like Flash and Quicksilver because "well the rules don't say he can't run faster than a human eye can see".

Or could we have something like the para-olympics but for metas/mutants. "Okay we know you have superstrength but who is strongest" "you all have superspeed but who is fastest"

[benevolenterrancy]

(Unseen Academicals, Terry Pratchett) I think Shang Qinghua and Ponder Stibbons should have tea and compare notes about somehow accumulating so much behind-the-scenes power by doing menial jobs no one else wants that they could basically run the show if they wanted...

meanwhile we have Shen "meh good enough" Qingqiu

[aries-temporis]

magical girl idea i thought up where the magical girl is just there to beat the shit out of evil beings just enough for her fucked up little mascot to eat them individual art under the cut:

[koldefingre]

Hes so silly (could make me tell him all my secrets by simply asking)

19 yr old Jon (ily late teen aus)

But he got his powers earlier, and is more feral.

(Tma teen edition but the vibe is like Buffy the vampire slayer merged w supernatural)

[haganekotetsu]

We wouldn’t know what things sounded like if we didn’t develop ears and audio processors…

We wouldn’t know what the world would’ve looked like if we didn’t evolve such an advanced set of eyes

We would’ve never bothered creating the culinary scene if we didn’t have a mouth and tongue and taste buds that let us taste and digest things or our sniffers to sniff things!!

We wouldn’t know what things would’ve felt like if we didn’t develop our bigass nervous system that gives us tactile feedback!!!

What the hell else are we missing out on in this world if our bodies haven’t developed the organs necessary to process the input?!?

[bumblingbabooshka]

Mentors

[twilightofthesandwiches]

The heavy Weird Route References in the Shadow Mantle are very… chilling (if you excuse the pun), no matter how you interpret them.

I’ve seen people theorize that since Spamton used to live in the Z-Rank room that has access to the S-Rank Room, this is actually how he learned of the possibilities of the Weird Route and how to use it for his own BIG SHOT benefits.

I’ve seen this interpreted as… almost the game trying to goad you into a Weird route if you haven’t done one yet. After all, you’re here cause you wanted to Complete the Game, see everything and achieve everything, and gain literal Game-Breaking Power. Wouldn’t the Weird Route be perfect for you?

Or you can look at the elements that haven’t appeared in the Weird Route as perhaps prescient to future changes caused by Snowgrave on the rest of the game. Like that we will eventually meet a ‘real-life’ counterpart to the Shadow Mantle boss…

Or that we will eventually face situations kinda like…

Or that this is maybe a sign for things to come in a different way. That Snowgrave being an alternative method for getting the Spamton NEO boss fight was just the tip of the iceberg. That later ‘Secret Boss Routes’ will require you to do increasingly morally repugnant things to complete them - up to and including requiring a Snowgrave-like route to even reach the Secret Boss. Basically circling back to Undertale’s Murder Routes themes of a Player doing horrible things just to ‘complete’ the Game.

But the idea I’m fixating on is… there are multiple angles to the idea of ‘Your Choices Don’t Matter’ that Deltarune can explore or has explored. There’s the idea of railroading, which obviously works in tandem with this whole storyline idea of the prophecy and the characters' attempts to fulfil or defy it. There's the matter of Character Agency versus Player Agency, with characters (including Kris) expressing their free will by overriding the Player's choices and on the other hand, the Weird Route allowing the Player 'freedom' by stripping the agency and will of Kris and Noelle. There's the idea of an ending being recontextualized by certain choices even when it's technically the same, which Chapters 1 + 2 + 3 all touched on.

And… if there's one the Game hasn't quite touched yet, it's choices not mattering due to the existence of a multiverse/alternative timelines. Your choices don’t matter because the world where you made another choice exists is just as real as your current one.

Well, I mean… it wasn’t overtly touched on. The existence of Multiple SAVE Files, unlike Undertale, the ‘Your Choices Matter’ Game, and its singular SAVE, kinda plays into the theme. Both in the sense of “having multiple SAVEs with different routes was be inherently counterproductive the emotional impact of Undertale’s choices… but now your Choices Don’t Matter so now you can have multiple SAVEs!” and in the sense that the multiple SAVEs themselves are part of the reason why your choices don’t matter. You are both fully aware of and capable of freely switching between three different timelines and can just pick your Favorite Consequences. And that robs your Choices of any real impact.

But also… most Players are aware of more than just the three timelines assigned to them. Undertale and Deltarune are games with huge online fandoms, who spend a lot of time experimenting and documenting and sharing every single variation and detail in these games. Undertale was primarily invested in your personal choices in your version of the Undertale, and only had a chance to allude to this idea…

But Deltarune already having more to do diverging Timelines, both with the three SAVE Files and the fact that it’s an alternative universe of Undertale. So honestly, since Chapter 2 and the Weird Route, I have been considering the possibility… what if your Choices Don’t Matter even in the Weird Route because even if you personally choose to not Go Snowgrave, the existence of the Weird Route and the fact that someone, somewhere did decide to do it, still had affects over the entire multiverse.

Basically, what if eventually the Weird Route creates some sort of rogue power like a Weird!Noelle or Weird!Kris who decides to go after not just the Players who tormented them, but even Players from other universes who chose differently. Where basically your choices didn't matter because every Player will be 'punished' for the Weird Route. (Obviously giving some exposition of who and what they are for the Players who aren’t involved with the Fandom and actually have no idea about any Routes but their own.)

Or that the Weird Route is simply so wrong that the harm that it created echoes through the multiverse in a way that corrupts even timeline where it did not happen. Kinda like…

And of course, here it gets into the point of Deltarune's theme being less "Your Choices Don't Matter!" and more "Your Choices Don't Matter?". Because even if Sir Berdly the Defrosted is gonna show up from the void between worlds to give you a Bad Time, does that mean it doesn't matter at all if he's punishing you for your actual misdeeds or if you're basically an innocent bystander screwed-over by the sins of someone else? Is "oh well, I would have gotten 'punished' even if I hadn't done it" a good reason for your torment of Noelle and Kris? Is the fact that there are timelines where Noelle came out of Cyber World traumatized and afraid (…I mean, even more so than she already was) makes the happier timelines where that did not happen meaningless? Do the existence of the multiple timelines (and even our ability to switch around between three of them) actually rob our Choices of their Meaning?

[meximango]

Day 27 - Memory - Altani - G

Summary: Altani’s echo manifested differently than her fellow warriors of light.

Ok so this one is basically just a summary so I don’t forget an idea I’ve had for a while, lol. Just like Krile’s echo gives her fancy empathy powers, I tweaked most of my WoLs’ echoes to give them a bit of extra flavor. Luvon’s was touched on/implied a bit in ‘tempest’ this year, and Cahsi’s was in ffxivwrite2022 I believe, I can’t remember the prompt, but it’s on ao3. So it’s time for Altani! 

--

Altani first saw The Starshower in her dreams around the time she met Mogren, almost got her brother killed, and that the entire village determined she was destined to be their next priestess and medium. It was a lively few weeks for sure, everything interconnected. She wasn’t even ten summers old yet, but even so, she understood deep in her bones that it was a turning point in her life. The gate was locked behind her, and whatever had awoken inside her was there to stay. Her life from then on would be full of deceit–lies she had to tell to others, and lies she kept all for herself. 

She had no idea what her dreams meant. That they were a memory. That they would provide her an advantage on her path to greatness. The dreams were scary, and far too real, and instead of offering her comfort as she woke crying and screaming, the elders would praise her for unlocking the ability to see into death itself. They’d ruffle her hair and pat her on the back, telling her to keep training so she could convene with her ancestors and grant them wisdom. She kept up the farce for the sake of Mogren, who’d been mistaken as a spirit Altani regularly spoke to, but it was so much less and more than that. 

In Altani’s head, The Starshower was always Capitalized, because it was very Important. She didn’t know why, but it was a feeling in her tummy she refused to ignore. 

Sometimes she’d wake and remember in perfect clarity as the sky rained fire and desperate screams reverberated all around her. Never was she able to tear her gaze from the sky above, to witness who was with her, what the landscape looked like. It was just the dark red night full of smoke and embers, blazing bright trails falling toward her. It had to be stars. What else could be falling? What could cause such a thing to happen? What if the dream was an omen of things to come? What if it sucked her inside, and she became one of those falling stars, burning up before she could even hit the ground? 

Other times, Altani would wake with a sense of unease, far more tired than was reasonable, completely tangled in her sheets as sweat coated her brow, and she just Knew that she had dreamt of The Starshower. 

It would only make sense years later, after speaking with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, that she wasn’t alone. There were others who witnessed The Starshower, and it granted them special gifts. That her nightmares were actually a boon, a gift from the goddess of the star herself. But it would be many years before that point, and not even Mogren could understand her plight as a child. 

She turned it into a game, pretending The Starshower really was giving her the ability to delve into the lifestream and pluck stories and messages from long-dead tribe members. Each star that fell was just another of her ancestors coming by to say hello. They were already dead, so they couldn’t feel pain! The screams were actually high-pitched laughs. Her ancestors sure were silly, weren’t they, pulling a prank like that on her. It made lying to everyone easier, and sleeping became a little bit easier too. She was brave, and no way was The Starshower going to overpower her! The dreams became less frequent as she got older, and instead a few other types of visions manifested in her. It wasn’t often, but it did help with her priestess duties. 

Every so often, when someone talked to her–most often when reminiscing about something from their past–she’d suddenly be swept away and forced to bear witness to the moment they were talking about. It was as though she were there with them, as though she could alter reality if she just reached out and tried (she couldn’t, of course. She was an invisible entity able only to watch, but in the beginning she had wanted to find out. Thank Hydaelyn it was just a memory; to warp reality would have been too much power for a child who wished to have control over something in her life to have.) She got to witness the truth, even if the teller couldn’t remember it correctly themself or were lying for one reason or another. The downside was appearing as though she had been spaced out for a few minutes, followed by a wicked headache, but it was easy enough to write that one to the villagers as ‘divine communication’. She often used this to her advantage later, recalling the collected memories to help give merit to her own lies that she wove for the villagers about their dead loved ones and advice for their future. The best lies had a grain of truth to them, after all. Rarer, by quite a margin, were visions Altani had no idea how to explain or what they even were. It wouldn’t be until her trip to Norvrandt, well into her adventuring career, that she would begin to understand. Once in a blue moon, something would trigger her to view whoever she was looking at or speaking to in a different light. It started like a memory, with her surroundings fading out and transporting her somewhere else, but instead of seeing the person the vision was about, she saw someone else. Altani didn’t have the gift of aethersight, but she had a feeling, an instinct, that she learned to accept. The vision was about a different version of the person. Sometimes they looked very similar to nearly identical to the person in question, while other times, their race, gender, skin or fur color–everything about them was different. Except the eyes. That was the one factor that didn’t seem to change. Whatever eye color the present person who triggered the vision had, there would be at least a hint of that same color in there for the person in the vision. Even if they changed into a creature with limited eye colors! As much as she’d hoped this was perhaps the key to unlocking real medium powers so she could talk to her ancestors, it wasn’t meant to be. She never met any of her ancestors that way, as most of visions she saw weren’t of au ra, nor did they take place in the Azim Steppe. The second type of vision was far more confusing and far less useful to her, so Altani didn’t much care for them, waiting for them to pass and observing only with a passing interest, for the most part. It was strange, being privy to other versions of people she met, when those same people had no idea about or access to those alternate realities. She tried not to dwell too much on those. 

Some part of her wished she could have seen another Altani, though. Would they share her same gifts, her same curses? Would they be strong or weak, a natural crafter or a clumsy disaster? Were they a hunter, or a fisher, or a teacher? Would they become a parent, a merchant, a leader? Was their life a lie, forced to pretend they’re something they’re not to keep their village happy and their friend safe? Maybe they led a normal, mundane life, and would grow up to be nobody of import. Altani’s visions didn’t work on herself, so she’d never know what any other Altani was doing except herself. Maybe it was better that way, so she couldn’t become jealous of a life she couldn’t have. 

When she became an adventurer, met her fellow Warriors of Light, and discovered they had similar experiences with The Starshower and being forced into people’s memories, she hid her relief behind false bravado and a strong clap on the back. It was like the weight of Hydaelyn had been lifted from her shoulders, learning her affliction had such a tiny, unassuming name as the echo. That there was an entire group of people studying it, and that this thing she’d been confused and frightened about and taking advantage of for so long already was considering a blessing from the goddess Hydaelyn herself. Hear, Feel, Think, indeed.This gift was shared among a select few, and they were often destined for greatness, which was all she strived for these days. She wanted to be strong enough to protect everyone without the power to do it themselves. She knew what it felt like to be powerless and scared, and so she would ensure to keep others from those awful feelings as much as she could.

While the others shared in most of the same echo traits, none of them ever saw those other versions of people or at least made no mention of it, so Altani kept that close to her chest. Only Mogren knew about that little trait, and they’d probably forgotten about it by now, since she only mentioned it a few times when she was younger and never again. 

Luckily, she’d never had to deal with seeing other versions of her family of friends, but of course that changed when she started adventuring with those others who shared in the gift. Maybe it just triggered more easily for those who’d also seen The Starshower? 

During one of her travels with Luvon, she’d had a vision that couldn’t have been of his past, as it took place in a gigantic forest unlike anything that existed on the mainland. Small streams of unnatural, sickly white light passed through the foliage and dappled the ground. She saw a young qiqirn and an older one carving tablets together. The younger had a yellow-green glint of excitement in their eyes as they speculated about what lay in the ruins, and what their home had been like before a flood of some kind. A fear years later is when that ‘memory’ clicked into place. Her moment of breakthrough came through after she was transported to the First. When all major threats were done being taken care of with Cahsi and Luvon, she was helping the Qitari unearth their history. Among the group in Hopl's Stopple, she noticed the pair she’d seen in her vision. Huh. So the person she’d seen in that vision was not a qiqirn at all, but their equivalent on the First, a qitari. Someone from a completely different shard… She observed them from afar, not wanting to barge in with nonsensical questions, but seeing how the little qitari acted and interacted with others, she could definitely see the similarities between them and Luvon. It was incredibly strange, but she’d come to realize by now that nothing was too strange for this universe. 

Despite having fragments of the same soul, they were still their own people. She’d accepted that already with all the visions she’d seen throughout the years. Nobody acted exactly like their other version’s self, even if there were similarities. Ardbert was pretty different from Cahsi, for example. Altani could have smacked herself realizing one of her echo visions of either Cahsi or Ardbert were not about the memory of their meeting and showdown, but rather showing her that they were apparently versions of one another. That news sure might have come in handy before they had to defeat Emet-Selch–but then again, maybe not. Maybe it would have been even harder or weirder for Cahsi to let go. She’d made a close friend of the warrior in her time on the first, and had taken it hard when he had to leave. Altani had finally been able to meet him a few times before the end, thanks to some ingenious spellwork and alchemy on Cahsi’s part. It was sad that he had to rejoin Cahsi, but it was his own choice, and Ardbert had already been dead for so long, so that’s probably why he was able to do so in the first place. Altani wasn’t about to subscribe to the now-dead ascian’s idea that rejoining all shards of the soul into one was the only way to truly exist and lead a worthwhile life. From what she’d seen, other shards were doing just fine for themselves–independently! 

That said, she was pretty sure if she introduced Luvon to his qitari counterpart, that nothing would happen unless one of them were to die. Maybe. She certainly didn’t want to test that, it was a horrifying thought. They’d probably stay two separate entities, none the wiser of their status as parts of one larger, more powerful soul at one point.

Really, this was all a lot to take in and think about, and nobody she wanted to discuss it with. It gave her a headache. One day, she’d figure this out with her friends. Maybe it was selfish to keep this from them, but she’d seen the heartbreak Cahsi went through with Ardbert, and she just felt it was best at this time. They had enough worries on their plate as it was. 

[moonsgemini]

nobody knows - rafe cameron

summary: a secret relationship between the kook king the sweet innocent kook & bathroom sex

warnings: 18+, cursing, reader being jealous, alcohol, SMUT, slight choking, semi public sex, pinv

an: hiiii hope y’all enjoy <3 this is a lil shorter than my usual stuff. I need drew starkey bad !! Might turn this into it’s own lil universe

-

This party was going to kill you. The scene in front of you calling for you to do something irrational. It was almost as if he wanted you to accidentally spill wine on Lindsey’s head.

The way her hand constantly found a place on his bicep has you gripping your glass a little tighter. The friendly smile on Rafe’s lips not helping ease your jealousy. Neither was the way he kept leaning down so he could hear her better, as if they were at a rave. It was a fairly small party for crying out loud there was no need for that.

If you had super powers the entire back yard would be lit up in flames with the way you were glaring at the pair. Of course he also wore that shirt you loved on him. The one you had mentioned on multiple occasions that it was your favorite.

You wished you could go over there and yank him down by the collar and smush your lips against his. Let everyone know that it’s your name he’s moaning at night and his lips and body that have your coming undone almost every night.

You wished everyone knew exactly what was going on between the two of you. Then you wouldn’t have to disguise your jealousy as a head ache. You knew it was because of you that the two of you snuck around but you’re starting to want things to change. You couldn’t stand the sight of your man giving another woman attention.

“Garrett is such a dick I can’t believe I didn’t dump him sooner,” Your friend Nessa mumbled.

You hummed and nodded in agreement while finishing off the last of your wine. Not really paying attention to what your friend was saying.

“You’ve been quiet today. More than usual, all good?” Nessa asked.

You nodded, “Yeah just have a head ache again.”

“Then lets get you another glass, being drunk will help with that,” Nessa grabbed your hand. She led you back over to the small cocktail bar that was set up which was right past Rafe and Lindsey.

As the pair of you passed them you pretended not to see Rafe. Obviously Rafe’s eyes followed you, not really paying attention to whatever the girl in front of him had been yapping about.

He was trying this new thing where he wasn’t going to be an asshole to people. Unless they deserved it obviously, but it was really fucking hard when all he wanted to do was talk to you. The old him would have just ditched her mid sentence but that’s not who he wanted to be.

He watched as you poured yourself some more wine, your friend going on about something as you nodded along. His pretty girl always being the best listener.

After a minute you said something to your friend before walking into the house. After a few seconds Rafe said something about going to the bathroom and left the babbling blonde behind. He didn’t care he wanted to find you.

When he stepped inside he saw your half empty wine glass on the kitchen counter. He walked down the hall to the guest bathroom and knocked.

“I’ll be out in a minute Ness!” You shouted from behind the door.

“It’s Rafe,” he said.

The locked clicked and the door opened to reveal your pretty frame. You had chosen to wear that dress he loves in the color he loves on you. He wasn’t the only one who chose what they’re wearing for a specific reason. You poked your head out and looked both ways before tugging him inside by the collar of his shirt. He chuckled at your antics

“Don’t you think it looks more suspicious if we’re in here together?” He smirked with a raised brow. In all honesty he didn’t really give a fuck if people saw you two together but he knows you aren’t ready.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like you were flirting it up out there with Lindsey.”

His smirk widened at the realization that you were jealous. He liked how around everyone you were always sweet and polite, sometimes even a little timid. But with him it was a different story. He loved the way you talked back to him and rolled your eyes at him. He loved the dirty things that sweet innocent mouth said to him when he was relentlessly fucking you.

“You jealous baby?” He stepped forward so the small of your back hit the counter.

Your scowl deepened as you crossed your arms, “No.”

He reach up stroked your cheek gently. His eyes going down to your lips, “You being a tough girl now. Come on baby you know she doesn’t have anything on you.”

Your scowl softened, “Well it doesn’t matter because it’s not like she knows that.”

Rafe leaned forward and kissed your cheek then your jaw and continued his way down to your pulse point, “I’ll let her know, we can let everyone know princess. I can fuck you right here right now.”

You gasped at his words and at the scrape of his teeth on the sensitive skin of your neck, “Rafe,” you practically moaned.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too opposed to that,” His finger slipped under your dresses strap and pulled it down. His lips kissing the newly exposed skin as he went down to your chest, “Make you scream my name as I bend you over.”

You wanted to talk back to him but you couldn’t as your eyes fluttered shut. His hands had moved down your waist and to your thighs. Slowly dragging his fingertips up them until he plucked at your stringy underwear letting it snap back against your skin. He made you such an incoherent mess and you loved it.

With everything in you you mustered back a reply, “You sure you want Lindsey to hear.”

He chuckled against the top of your breasts that were exposed. His fingers now pressing against your wet clothed cunt.

“It seems like you want her to hear baby,” He pressed his fingers against your clit and rubbed soft circles, “look at how wet you are huh. My dirty girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation. His fingers slipped under your tiny panties and he slid them through your sopping cunt and groaned against your neck, “God I love how you feel.”

You tugged his face up to meet your desperate eyes as you pulled him in for a kiss. You both moaned at the feeling. You loved when Rafe fucked you but you loved kissing him even more. His fingers picked up the pace a little against your throbbing clit. You could feel your wetness dripping down your legs.

“Please let me fuck you right here baby,” He mumbled against your lips, “I’ll do it so good. I’ll make you cum all over my cock.”

That whole being more nice thing Rafe was working on never applied to you. You were probably the only person on the island who had ever heard the kook king say please and thank you. Sometimes he even practically begged to fuck you or eat you out. You lived for it. It made your skin tingle and your tummy flutter.

You nodded your head, “Yes Rafey.”

He pulled his fingers away from you and practically shoved them into your mouth. You loved it though, tasting yourself on his long thick fingers. Your tongue licking them clean. He bit his lip and groaned with hooded eyes. Rafe was utterly obsessed with you.

He pulled his fingers out with a pop and leaned in capturing your mouth in his in another searing kiss. It was sloppy and made your head spin. He pulled away spinning you around. Your hands landed on the counter to steady yourself as he hiked your dress up to your waist.

Rafe gave your ass a firm squeeze and took a few seconds to admire you on this position. He loved that he could still see your pretty face in the mirror, he could see just how fucked you were for him. Your swollen lips, hooded eyes, and messy hair all because of him. It made his heart beat faster and his ego grow. He loves that no one else has known you in this way until he came around.

You watched as he began to undo his pants and pull his thick cock out. You whimpered at the sight of him stroking himself a few times. Grabbing the tiny string of your panties he pulled it to the side before lining himself up with you.

“You’re a fucking dream,” He groaned as he slipped his tip in. The warm wetness of your pussy making him throw his head back. Slowly he slotted himself in you. The feeling of you clenching around him already getting him so close.

“Fuck you’re coming home with me,” He groaned as he began moving in and out.

You nodded with hazy lust filled eyes. You’d do anything he asked of you. The feeling of him stretching you out was out of this world. You didn’t understand how he was always able to hit that spot that had your back arching and mouth forming into an o.

He fucked you as quietly as he could. Rafe didn’t give a fuck if people heard but he knew you did. It’s not like you were embarrassed of Rafe and he knew that. It would just make things complicated if people knew. There’d be constant prying and knit picking at everything you two did and how you acted.

“Oh Rafe,” you mumbled standing up so your back was against his chest. He groaned and wrapped one of his hands around your throat. Your head fell back against his shoulder.

Rafe’s other hand found it’s way to your chest. He pinched one of your nipples and squeezed your breast. He did the same thing to the other one before sliding down your stomach and to your clit. He rubbed circles as he continued to thrust into you.

He moved the hand that was around your throat to hold your jaw. Tugging your head down to look in the mirror.

“You see that baby, He nodded towards your reflection, “see how good you look when I’m inside you. My girl takes me so damn well.”

“I-I mmmph oh Rafe,” you mumbled incoherently but he knew what you were trying to say. He could tell you were close by the way you tightened around him and the way you dripping down him.

“I know,” He groaned, “I’m there too.” A loud moan began escaping you but rafe moved his hand up quickly to cover your mouth.

“Shit look at you, no one will ever compare. Fuck I’m all yours,” He grunted.

Your moans were muffled by his big hand as you came. He wasn’t farm behind as he buried his face in your neck as he came inside you.

“Well we’ve never done that before,” you giggled.

He huffed a laugh, “I’m pretty sure we’ve done that plenty of times before.”

You shook your head, “We’ve never done it in a bathroom at a party.”

He smirked as he pulled out of you and adjusting your clothes for you. He gave your ass a gentle slap, “I should make you jealous more often.”

You rolled your eyes and turned around to face him, “So what if I was jealous.”

He kissed you, “You have nothing to be jealous of. I’m yours.”

You smiled softly as your heart swelled, “Rafe maybe we should tell people.”

His eyes widened slightly, “Really?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement, “mhmm I want to go on dates here in town. I want to be the one who has your attention all night and when I get too drunk you drive me home.”

He smiled, “Sounds perfect.”

After fixing yourselves to look presentable again you opened the door and led Rafe out not really thinking. But before you could even step through the doorway you were face to face with Lindsey who had a scowl on her face.

“Finally,” she rolled her eyes but then she saw the person standing behind you, “oh that’s where you disappeared to?” that scowl never leaving her.

Rafe nodded with a smirk, “My girl needed me.”

You blushed as you stepped past her with Rafe’s hand in yours with smiles plastered on both your faces.

[tonycries]

FIRST masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 06/02/24 up until 01/10/24 — for my recent works click on my SECOND MASTERLIST <3

Men In Uniform Do It Best!

Dirty Lil' Secrets

A Picture Lasts Long (But Not As Long As That D*ck)

I'm Addicted, I Admit It!

Give Me Tough Love

Never Ever Seen This Before!

We Don't Have No Babies!

Like A Fever

Bad Things (To You)

Prettier When Messy!

Care For You!

Green-eyed Monster

So Lonely In My Mansion!

Kiss Me More!

Girl, I Do This Often

Cause, I Love Freaks!

Sl*t Me Out!

Match My Freak!

WAP!

R U Mine?

Hot To Go!

Girl, You Earned It!

I'm A BIG Stepper!

BODY-ODY!

SOOO ANXIOUS

Long Overdue!

THIS P*SSY DEPRESSED!

The Family Matter?!

I-T G-I-R-L!

I Lasted Ten Rounds!

BRAT!

She's My Vitals!

Three's a Crowd (But Four...) — “So, are they like holograms? Or can you really touch them?” “Why? Trynna cop a feel, sweetheart?” In which you and your boyfriend find very unconventional uses for his powers.

Why Can't I Keep My Fingers Off You? [Part 1] [Part 2] — There were two things missing in the scene in front of you: 1. The aphrodisiac chocolate your friends had given as a gag gift last Christmas that had been hidden away in the back of your refrigerator. 2. Your dear fiancé.

Dream A Little Dream — For the strongest, it was a privilege to dream. Especially when his dream is you. 

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

One More? Please? — A kiss always solves everything! But when a kiss turns into something more…well, it’s only a desperate attempt to unseal yourselves from this damned prison realm, right? Right?

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

Hope They Catch Us — When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Unmistakably Yours — In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Madam Gojo — Gojo Satoru, the strongest clan leader in all of Japan - and the most dangerous, too. You, rejected by the elders, and totally not his future bride, right? Right?

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

The Heir — No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

The Call — After an explosive fight with your boyfriend, you really should feel sorry about being swept up by the blue-eyed stranger at the club - but it’s so hard when he kisses you like that.

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy — He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 1] [Part 2] — You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid…is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.

Unhoneymooners!? — The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! — When your sugar daddy just isn’t paying attention to you, can you really be blamed for fúcking his son? Especially when his son is absolutely obsessed with you.

Bad Boys Bring Roses — You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

The Way You Kiss Me — The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Isn't That Sweet? (I Guess So) — Oh no! Why do your pantíes keep disappearing? Well, maybe your hot roommate knows the answer…

Haunting You — A bIoody trail of vampire attácks, a political marriage, and four suitors you’re forced to choose from - all haunting you. But none as much as the mysterious stranger that makes everything in you scream that you might just be fated for the very thing your kingdom is trying to escape from.

You'll Taste Me Too! — How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

We Neva Play! — Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Something Stupid — Five times the strongest would rather díe than tell you he loves you, and the one time he almost does. Almost.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Like An Animal — Of course Toji doesn’t want any more kids. Of course he’s lying as he stuffs your pretty cúnt full of his cúm for the third time tonight.

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You — When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officers... — You don’t know what’s faster - how fast you were speeding down the highway, or how fast you’re on your knees for the hot officers that just so happen to pull you over.

F*ck You! (Literally) — Of course, you hated your ex-husband. Of course, you found yourself in bed with him on your wedding anniversary.

Government Hooker — With the fame and glory of being an international popstar comes the inevitable threat of an overzealous stalker. You just didn’t think that it would also come with a very sexy, buff bodyguard behind your every move.

Madam Zenin — There’s nothing that rouses Toji, the infamous head of the Zenin clan, nothing that will make him lose control - until they take what’s most important to him. You.

Brooklyn Baby — Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

Golden Boy — Falling right back in love with the cult leader you’re supposed to kíll? Happens more often than you’d think.

Welcome To The Itadori's! — Three times Choso really, really wanted to hold you without his family barging in, and the one time he actually does. 

FIVE! — Five hours - it’s all it takes for Choso’s baby fever to take over. After all, you’d look so pretty with his kid - five of them, in fact.

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) — When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Freak On The Cam! — Choso always loved watching you - his pretty lil’ camgírl - from behind the screen. Who knew he’d love being on-screen with you even more?

Initiation! — “Just a small initiation, nothing too serious.” Couldn’t be too hard, right? So why are you - the all-new frat sweetheart - being pinned to the bed and stuffed full from all ends by your frat brothers?

A Million Dollar Baby! — Turns out, rent can be paid in much more than one way.

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) — In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Exes who...

Love Is Blind

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Wanna Do Bad Things To You

I Wanna Get Freaky On Camera

Lemme Ride, Baby!

Can I Fill You Up, Baby?

"Pull On It. Harder."

Little Heaven

©2025 tonycries. All work belongs to @tonycries. Do NOT repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. This includes themes, headers, and pinned.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

🧠 FREE WRITING LESSON — THE MOST POWERFUL CHARACTER DEPTH TRICK YOU’LL EVER READ.

Let’s say your character sucks.

She’s flat. Predictable. “Strong” in all the wrong ways. Let’s call her Nicolle. Or Carol. Or whatever name Hollywood gave her.

She’s a superhero. She’s got powers. She’s got sarcasm. She takes no shit. She leads the squad. She’s admired by everyone — and loved by no one.

You’ve seen this character before. Now watch what happens when you give her one secret she doesn’t brag about.

Nicolle has two sons.

She’s raising them alone — to become men like her late father: A man who sacrificed everything to raise her after her mother disappeared, broke, or gave up.

The world sees Nicolle as the apex of visual empowerment. But the world doesn’t see:

The arguments with her boys’ father — about what being a real dad means.

The prayers whispered in the dark over a fevered forehead.

The way she ghosted the only man she maybe wanted, not because she’s flaky — but because she doesn’t know if wanting love makes her a bad mother.

The nights she tucks her boys in, then collapses into her bed, staring at the ceiling, heart full of ache, because she gave the world her strength but kept no one to hold hers.

They don’t see the days her sons cry after watching her get slammed through buildings on TV.

Held by the throat. Left for dead. Motionless for seconds too long. Until she rises — because she has to.

They don’t see the breakdowns. They don’t see her flinch.

They assume she doesn’t feel fear. But the truth?

She feels it every single time.

She’s not fearless. She’s never been. But fear is a luxury she doesn’t have.

That’s a luxury for men. She is a god. And she will make any threat scream that truth — as she crushes it beneath her bleeding hands.

Because when demons invade, tyrants rise, and monsters descend, She suits up.

Not for hashtags. Not for feminism. Not for attention.

She suits up because the idea of her sons growing up in a world she could’ve fought for and didn’t — is more terrifying than death itself.

And she will not let the universe teach her boys that their mother ever cowered.

🔺 THE TRIFECTA THAT MAKES ANY SUPERHERO NEXT-LEVEL:

Intimacy. Contradiction. Duty.

Intimacy gives them a soul — something they protect more than their own body.

Contradiction gives them depth — because perfection is forgettable, but conflict creates memory.

Duty gives them immortality — because we remember those who bled for more than applause.

Give a character that trifecta — and suddenly:

She’s not annoying. She’s haunting. She’s not fanfiction. She’s canon. She’s not shallow. She’s legend.

✍️ That’s how you fix a weak character. You don’t soften her. You give her something to fight that fists can’t touch.

And suddenly?

She’s not a girlboss. She’s the last myth your enemies ever tell themselves before they die.

</div>

[smileysuh]

camera man

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. He’s this big, strong, business major and frat president- but right now, he’s putty in your hands… and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling extremely powerful from this.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, cam girl reader, mentions of alcohol/drugs/porn, masturbation, use of sex toys, multiple reader orgasms, oral (both m/f recieving), blow job, pussy eating, overstim, multiple sex positions, dirty talk, praise, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.3k 

🍭 aus. Svt cam boy au, frat au, university au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This is part 2 of a 3 part cam boy svt au. Each story can be read as a stand-alone, but exists within the same universe :) Wonwoo is April, Seungcheol is May, and Mingyu will be in June. As soon as all 3 are up, a masterlist will be created, which will then be linked here. 

Prologue:

It’s a generally unspoken secret amongst the frats and sororities at your university that some of the students within the ‘Greek system’ are a part of the adult entertainment camming industry. When notorious gaming streamer ‘No Face’ had made his debut in the more erotic style of video making, there had been whispers about Sigma Veta Tau’s Jeon Wonwoo being the man behind the mask. 

“I swear to God,” your friend Kelly says one night as you’re all watching Legally Blonde for the tenth time, “No Face had another cam show last night, and I’m like a hundred percent sure he was talking to someone behind the camera.”

“So?” you sigh.

“So… everyone knows Wonwoo has that new girlfriend! I would bet my scholarship that Wonwoo is No Face, and he and his girlfriend are into some weird in front of camera and behind the camera masturbation type of shit.” 

“If they are, that’s their own business,” you shrug. 

“I wonder how much money they make,” Kelly frowns. “Like… No Face is huge- I wonder if he makes like… thousands every month.”

Now your friend's words draw your attention. It’s one of those weird things, you’re aware of camboys and camgirls, aware of the porn industry and everything, of OnlyFans- but with so many easily accessible free porn sites, you’d forgotten that a lot of content creator’s have switched to behind paywall options in order to make actual income on their work.

“I heard he’s making over ten thousand a month,” another sorority sister pipes in. “There are rumours that Sigma Veta Tau’s frat president, you know, the business major one, supports the whole thing and helps with marketing and style and all sorts of stuff so that it’s more profitable.”

Your skin is prickling now… ten thousand a month? Just for… diddling yourself on camera? Wearing a mask would make you anonymous, and as a female, if you did a wig, it would be even better…

You shake your head at yourself, you can’t actually be considering this… can you? 

One:

It’s been about six months since you started camgirling, and it’s going alright. It had been a definite learning curve, as you don’t have some business major to talk you through the ropes, and unlike No Face, you didn’t start with a preexisting following from being a gaming streamer- no, it’s slow going, but sometimes with things like this, it just is what it is.

Being an anonymous camgirl doesn’t stop you from having fun though, and tonight, you’re with Kelly at a Sigma Veta Tau frat party. 

There had been talk about frat president Choi Seungcheol being a mastermind behind the possible camboy ring in this frat, notably No Face being the most famous, but you push that aside. You’ve been into Seungcheol since you first saw him, and, expertise or not, you’d do anything for a chance with him.

The two of you know each other in passing; you’re both in the ‘Greek system’ after all, so when you get to the party, you zero in on Cheol by the beer pong table.

He looks up as you approach, a smirk working its way onto his mouth. 

You’ve had near misses with this man, misses that you’ve since dwelled on incessantly.

There had been that time your sorority and his fraternity were doing a bake sale together, and the two of you had been stuck at the booth all day due to scheduling conflicts with other volunteers. The booth had been small, and there had been numerous moments of contact, you trailing your hand along his shoulders as you moved behind him to grab cupcakes, his hands on your hips to gently guide you out of his way so he could access the cash box-

Christmas had been interesting, with the two of you stuck under the mistletoe only to be interrupted by first-year Dino, who had come to warn Seungcheol that Hoshi and Seokmin had spiked the punch with LSD by accident- how had it been an accident, you might ask? Well, the jury is still out on that one.

Seungcheol is definitely your ‘maybe’ man, the man you maybe will kiss, the man you maybe will fuck, the man you maybe will fall for… if the situation allows it. 

“How are you doing?” Seungcheol says, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you in.

It’s a forward approach, but you don’t mind as you snuggle up to the big, muscular frat boy. 

“Doing good, you?” 

“Been drinking,” he notes, holding up his red solo cup for you. “Promise there’s no LSD in this one.”

You laugh, accepting the liquor. It’s a mixed drink, something strong, and now you know why Seungcheol is so relaxed. This is pure giggle juice, and if you’d had a whole cup of this, you’d be just as forward with Seungcheol as he’s being with you right now.

“What did you put in this?” you ask.

“I don’t know, Dino made it.” 

Sometimes you forget that Seungcheol is one of the older men here, and he’s the president, so he has a whole house of dudes ready to do anything he asks. It’s funny how often he picks on Dino, but at the same time, you know Seungcheol loves the kid and sees him like a little brother.

“Are you sure there’s no LSD in this, then?” you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles. “Dino’s more of a weed guy, and Vernon only sells the flower shit, which would be hard to hide in a drink, so you don’t have to worry.”

You love the inner workings of this community. Hoshi and Seokmin are the trouble makers with a thing for getting too messed up on alcohol or anything they can get their hands on. Seungkwan, their bitchy mother figure/younger cohort who always runs around with them, or with Vernon - the resident weed seller - even though Seungkwan is a total musical theater kid and hasn’t touched any drug in his entire life.

Then you have the likes of Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol, three of the older members, the business majors. Woozi and Wonwoo are more on the quiet end of the spectrum, avoiding parties. There are Jun and Minghao, who can have a crazy streak, but also prefer to seclude together rather than come to big gatherings. Mingyu and Dino are both just puppies, and they’re constantly running around and getting into trouble.

No, you love this frat, and regardless of the camboy rumours, you’re happy that they’re the brother frat to your sorority. 

You continue to sip on the drink, standing with Seungcheol while you watch Seokmin and Hoshi versus Jeonghan and Joshua in beer pong. It’s a riveting game, with all sorts of fake-outs, crying, screaming- Hoshi pretending to sip his drink, then doing a trick shot that fails, only for him to sprawl onto the floor in disappointment. Seokmin laughing at his teammate’s antics can probably be heard over the music throughout the whole house.

Jeonghan and Joshua end up winning, and the ‘evil twins’ - as some call them - celebrate accordingly with shots.

Seungcheol can only laugh, turning to look at you. “How’s that drink working out?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk, mister Choi?”

“Just a little tipsy, not drunk,” he smirks.

“And why would you want me to be tipsy?”

“So you’ll dance with me,” he admits, and for the first time, he actually looks kind of shy. This big, beefy, muscle-head businessman who always fills out his suits - or his blue jeans - is shy about asking you to dance… You couldn’t be more into him than you are in this moment.

“Cheol, you need to be more confident,” you tell him, grabbing his hand to lead him onto the dance floor.

“I am confident,” he argues. 

“Yeah? I don’t believe you.”

Seungcheol swallows thickly, and then he grabs the back of your neck. He tugs you to his chest, closing the distance between your mouths. You kiss him back eagerly, latching onto his plain white t-shirt as your tongues begin to clash deliciously. 

Seungcheol groans, his hand slipping from the small of your back to your ass, and you realize that maybe this man wasn’t being shy at all, maybe he just wanted your first kiss to feel right. After all, there have been so many near misses-

No, this is perfect, and you get lost in the taste of Seungcheol as he kisses you on the dance floor.

You don’t feel exposed even though you’re in a crowd like this- you know no one is paying attention to you, and you also know you’re not the only couple making out on the dance floor right now.

Your heart is racing when Seungcheol finally pulls away, and he looks down at you with a grin.

“My room?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you off the dance floor.

Your heart is still thundering as you follow him. He takes you up two flights of stairs, all the way to his back corner room. 

Lots of frat boys have double rooms that they share with others, but there’s a select handful that have solo lodging like Cheol’s.

You’ve never actually been in his room before- most of the frat boys keep their doors locked, and you’re shocked at the neon blue hue created by many panels of mood lighting along the walls. There’s a massive gaming station in the corner, a desk, a big bed- it looks like a room that suits Seungcheol, but there’s something about the aesthetic that’s throwing you off.

The neon blues are No Face’s colours- but you know Cheol is not No Face, he’s much too big to be the lean, thick anonymous gamer turned OnlyFans celebrity. 

“You good?” Seungcheol asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, just never been in here before,” you lie, shaking your head as you grab Seungcheol again, pressing your lips to his desperately. 

He wraps you up in his large arms, leading you over to the bed. You fall onto the mattress as gracefully as gravity allows, looking up at Seungcheol.

His expression is one of complete lust, you can tell you’ve both been waiting for this for a while.

“Here,” you offer, undoing your jeans and lifting your hips so you can shimmy out of them.

He immediately grabs at the fabric, helping you tug it off. Next is your shirt, and you remove that too-

Then you notice Seungcheol staring at you, but his expression has shifted to one of confusion.

You look down and realize he’s staring at a faint birthmark on your inner thigh.

“Wait…” he shakes his head, “are you camgirl BabyDoll246?”

Two: 

Seungcheol’s whole world has stopped. Things had been a little fuzzy from drinking mixed booze for a couple of hours, but now, the world is extremely clear. He can’t stop looking at the mark on your thigh, the tiny mark- so small you could miss it, so small it would likely be insignificant in every scenario- except Seungcheol has been looking at that mark nearly every night for the better part of two months.

As someone involved with unofficial guidance in the camming industry, Seungcheol has made it his job to keep an eye out for competition… but at the same time, Seungcheol’s not about to watch all the male camboys. No, he’s taken to watching the girls, seeing what works, what doesn't-

And then he’d found anonymous, mask and wig-wearing camgirl BabyDoll246, and he’d become obsessed.

You… you can’t be camgirl BabyDoll246… except, it’s your mark, on your thigh- and now that Seungcheol thinks about it, other things are starting to fit too.

“Y/N,” Seungcheol repeats, “Are you camgirl BabyDoll246?”

“Cheol…”

“I’ve got so many business tips for you!” Seungcheol belts out, his grooming as a businessman taking over, without the aid of his usual charming lines, which are blurred by his tispy countenance. 

“What?” You blink up at him in confusion. “You’re not mad that I’m a camgirl?”

“Why would I be mad?” Seungcheol asks in shock. 

“Because, uh… well, some men are very controlling and protective over the girls they sleep with?”

“Some men need to grow some balls, and also, we haven’t slept together yet.”

“Which brings me back to the fact that I’m in my bra and panties on your bed, so are we doing this, or what?” You chuckle, but there’s a nervousness to it.

Seungcheol gets the impression that the whole camgirl thing is a touchy subject for you. Not many cam people are proud and loud about what they do for work, and Seungcheol knows it’s hard to face the judgment that comes with being an adult entertainer while also trying to get a university degree.

His mind is spinning, and Seungcheol does his best to push it all down.

He thinks maybe he’d had too much to drink earlier, and Seungcheol’s the kind of man who struggles to get hard when he’s been excessive with his alcohol consumption. But he’s not about to pass up this opportunity, not when his mouth still works.

The frat president sinks to his knees, hooking his fingers in your panties to remove them.

“Eat you out now, talk business another time, when I’m sober,” he promises.

“You’re not going to fuck me after eating me out?” you question.

Seungcheol would normally be open about his failings as a man, but now that he knows you’re camgirl BabyDoll246, he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you. So instead, he tells you, “I don’t want to rush things,” then he pulls your core to his tongue.

You don’t question him further, your head lolling back, a whimper escaping you.

God, you sound even prettier in person, and it encourages Seungcheol to go harder, giving you everything his mouth has to give.

He’s watched you cum on toys of all sorts, and he’ll be damned if he can’t make you cum on his tongue. 

Three:

You can’t believe you’ve agreed to a ‘buisness meeting’ with Choi Seungcheol- but after he’d made you cum on his tongue three times, you hadn’t been in the mindset to argue with him about anything.

So here you are, after dinner on a Tuesday, walking through the nearly deserted library until you find the frat president in a far corner on his laptop.

Seungcheol waves you over, and he even stands to give you a lingering hug.

“Missed you,” he whispers, and if he didn’t sound so sincere, you might find it laughable.

By now, you’ve worked it out that Seungcheol is a major fanboy of yours. What had felt like a push-pull power dynamic ‘maybe’ relationship has been flipped on its head, and now, you’re acutely aware that you hold all of the cards. 

“I made a PowerPoint,” Seungcheol announces as you both sit down next to each other.

“What?”

He opens his laptop, and you find yourself staring at a Google Slides document with the apt title ‘BabyDoll246 - rebranding prospects for financial gain.’ In tiny font at the bottom, there’s a ‘by Choi Seungcheol’ note, and you find yourself laughing.

“You can’t be serious,” you tell him.

“Deadly serious,” he warns you. “Now, if I could have five minutes of your uninterrupted time, I can present this for you.” 

You sigh. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I wanted to start my presentation today by discussing my qualifications,” Seungcheol announces - as if this is some sort of job interview - as he clicks the next slide. “Although I should be maintaining client and marketing manager anonymity, I need you to know that I’m the mastermind behind streamer No Face’s success on OnlyFans. I helped guide him into the world of adult content by keeping his brand simple and focused, which is what I can help you with too.”

He hits the next slide, but pauses momentarily.

“I also want you to know that I think it would be a lot easier for you to get big on OnlyFans because more men watch that kind of shit than women do.”

“Do you have the statistics on that?” you tease.

“In a recent study, OnlyFans estimated that seventy-nine percent of their monthly traffic came from male users, as opposed to twenty-one percent for female users.”

“Oh, you actually had the stats.” You blink at him in shock.

“I’m a business major, I come prepared,” he reminds you. “Anyways, there are a few avenues for growth when it comes to you. First, we need to get your brand narrowed down. I’ve noticed you switch a lot between masks and wigs and lighting, there’s no set mood or colour, which makes it hard for repeat watchers to realize it’s you and not one of the many other anonymous camgirls.”

You consider his words.

“So… you mean like No Face has his whole blue thing, and one mask, and that’s it- you always know it’s him,” you clarify.

“Exactly, you need to find your brand, and stick to it. You can mess around with outfits, but one mask, one wig or wig colour, and one lighting set up.”

“That could work,” you admit.

“I also think it would be interesting for you to have a…” he hits the next slide, which just says, “Camera man.” 

You laugh, but then you realize he’s being serious. “Cheol, this is camgirl stuff, it’s not real porn with a real director-”

“But a lot of male audiences like the whole ‘pov’ style of thing, and also, as a man… if I were your camera man, I could help direct you with things your audience would want to see.”

“Oh, so you’re my cameraman now?” you chuckle.

“I think it would help your platform. Not always camera man videos, but sometimes… I’ve also found it helps some cam performers to have a partner behind the camera, someone to talk to, to make the dirty talk more real.”

“Like Wonwoo and his girlfriend?”

“Wonwoo?” Seungcheol’s skin turns pink. “I never mentioned Wonwoo- Wonwoo’s not No Face-”

“Cheol, you don’t have to hide that Wonwoo is No Face, I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” You release a breath and look back down at his PowerPoint. “If I’m being honest, these aren’t the worst ideas in the world.” 

“Then think about it,” Seungcheol says. “You don’t have to agree to anything right now, but just… think about it.” 

Four:

You’ve taken some of Seungcheol’s suggestions to heart. Getting ready with a pink wig, a pink purge mask and pink lighting, you can’t help but think you might be ripping off No Face- but to be fair, Seungcheol had helped Wonwoo’s marketing, so you’re not stealing anyone’s ideas of Seungcheol’s the one who told you to do this.

If this whole thing works, then it works. You know Wonwoo’s not about to sue you for ‘copyright of camming aesthetics’ or something stupid, so you take a breath and turn the camera on, inspecting yourself on the screen. 

One of the good things about the mask is that you can just stare at yourself. There’s no awkward eye contact since no one can see your eyes… however, the mask and wig do get stuffy. 

Pushing the uncomfortable sensation aside, you relax against your bed.

You’ve worn a pink babydoll-style lingerie set, and when you spread your thighs, it shows off your crotchless panties.

“I’m so wet already,” you murmur, playing it up for the camera. In the back of your mind, you consider what you’d be saying if Seungcheol were with you right now, so you draw on that for inspiration. 

“I’ve been wanting you inside me,” you groan, reaching down to rub your clit. “Want to feel your tongue again, want to feel your thick fingers and your massive cock.”

You can see donations coming in, and you realize Seungcheol was onto something with upping your dirty talk game by being in the moment.

“My little fingers just aren’t enough,” you continue, pushing one inside of yourself. “Maybe I should add another.”

You continue teasing yourself and dirty-talking to the camera until you have enough donations, and then you reach for your vibrator. 

Thinking about Seungcheol is making you wetter than than ever before, and as you bring the toy to your clit, you know you’re not going to last long tonight.

You throw your head back, deciding to moan and whimper instead of dirty-talking further. You imagine it’s Seungcheol holding this toy to your clit- and thinking about that brings back the memory of him eating you out, which only makes you more turned on.

God, his tongue had felt so good that night- 

You’d gripped his hair, riding his face for the third orgasm, your chest heaving, heart racing, skin clammy from exhaustion. 

You get lost in the memory, the tension building in the pit of your stomach. Soon, you’re falling over the edge, your pussy clamping down on nothing while desperately aching for Seungcheol to be filling you up-

You ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure surging through you with each wiggle of your hips.

Seungcheol’s voice swirls through your head, and as the show comes to an end, you realize you want to take him up on his offer.

Five:

It’s been all of ten minutes since you turned off your cam show, your wig is off, and you’re resting in bed just trying to collect yourself, when there’s a knock at your door.

“Uh… busy?!” you call, thinking it’s a sorority sister.

“It’s me.”

Seungcheol’s voice makes you sit up abruptly. “One second!”

You wrap a robe around your body, nearly falling on your face in an effort to hop off the bed. You unlock your door, opening it to find the business major standing there.

He looks disheveled, frantic even, and he immediately pushes into your room.

“You took my advice,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“I just watched your stream. All pink monochrome colours and aesthetics- of course you’d choose pink, fuck you look so good in pink.” Seungcheol is practically pacing in front of you, and you wrap your rope tighter around your naked body.

“Are you alright?” you ask.

“I got too caught up in drinking and business last time, I should have fucked you, but I didn’t, and you have no idea how much I’ve been regretting that.” 

You realize he’s still hung up on the night of the frat party, and you also realize maybe Seungcheol’s been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. 

“I’m not used to this,” Seungcheol admits, taking a seat on your bed and running his hand through his hair. “I’m a business major, I’m supposed to keep a level head, but fuck- I found out  you were BabyDoll246 and I think it just made me feral.”

“You’re cute when you’re a fanboy,” you tease, sitting next to him.

Seungcheol groans, but he accepts it when you open your arms for him, and he cuddles close to your chest, breathing in heavily. You stroke his hair, giving him space to speak.

“I want you,” he says finally. “I want you so fucking bad. I offered the cameraman thing to be close to you, and I’ll still do that for you, I’ll help you with your brand, but- even before I knew you were BabyDoll246, I’ve been into you for months.”

“So why did you never make a move?”

“I’ve got a porn addiction,” he admits. “Well… maybe not an addiction. I’m pretty ingrained in the OnlyFans industry, not personally, but… I’m involved, and I know that can be rough on partnerships in this day and age-”

“So this situation is kind of perfect, huh?” you grin. “Can’t microcheat on me by watching porn if I’m the one you always want to watch.”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Guess that’s true.”

“What if you only like me because I’m BabyDoll246?” you joke.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “I’m going to simp for you so hard.”

“I think you already are,” you grin. “Making me cum three times on your tongue, not even fucking me yourself- how were the blue balls after that party?”

“So bad.”

“And how are they right now after watching my show?”

“Maybe you should take my pants off and see for yourself,” Seungcheol teases.

You stare at him for a moment, and then you sink to your knees next to the bed. You push open his thighs, hands reaching for his button and zipper.

“Shit,” Seungcheol cusses, letting out a shaky breath as you begin to tug his pants down. 

“Didn’t think I’d actually do it, did you?” you grin.

“I guess not,” he chuckles, swallowing thickly. “Are you sure about this?”

“I am, are you?”

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, but uh… no pressure.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and you pause to look up at him. “Seungcheol, you made me cum three times with your mouth, I think you deserve this in return.”

“I don’t uh… keep track like that,” he says shyly.

“Then don’t keep track. Sit back, relax, and let me do this.”

Seungcheol nods, watching you carefully as you hook your fingers in his underwear, tearing them down his legs.

God, he’s so thick. His shoulders are broad, his thighs are juicy, and his cock looks like something out of a fever dream, all hard and big-

He might have the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, and when you wrap your hand around the base, you realize you’re already practically drooling.

“Try not to choke,” Seungcheol says, and you flash a glare up at him.

“For someone who seems shy at points, you’re actually pretty cocky aren’t you?” 

“I mean…” he bites his lip, “I think I’ve got a lot to work with.”

You have no response to that, because it’s true. You simply shake your head, taking a breath before leaning forward.

You start by licking at his tip, teasing it while he groans above you. You like his sounds, and they prompt you to take more of him into your mouth. You continue to suckle on him, paying attention to the sensitive mushroom head.

Men always want more, they always want to see how much you can fit inside your mouth- so to start like this, well, it will tease Seungcheol and make him even more eager for you than he already is. 

His hand finds your hair, and he strokes you as you suck on him.

“Feels good,” he groans, shifting a little so he can lean back, his other hand now pressed against your mattress.

You moan a sound of affirmation, sinking down on him further.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol breathes. “You’re so good at this.”

You’re a glutton for praise, and you do your best to hollow your cheeks, moving up and down on his length.

When it comes to sexual activities, blow jobs aren’t usually at the top of your preference list, but there’s something about pleasuring this man- about hearing him come undone for you.

He’s this big, strong, business major and frat president- but right now, he’s putty in your hands… and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling extremely powerful from this. 

You’re practically slurping on him now, your mouth starting to make obscene sounds from the effort, and Seungcheol echoes the noises with groans and grunts of his own.

“Fuck, baby, I don’t want to cum from this.”

You pull off of him. “Then don’t cum?”

He lets out a shocked laugh. “It’s not that easy.”

“No?” You trail your tongue from his base to his tip. “Can’t control yourself?”

Seungcheol meets your gaze, and you see something harden in his eyes.

“No, I can’t.”

He grabs you suddenly, lifting you off the ground and tossing you onto the bed.

Then Seungcheol stands up, tearing off his shirt so he’s now naked for you. God, he’s so gorgeous- he’s all big and muscled and-

Seungcheol reaches down, opening your robe with one motion, and just like that, you’re both naked.

“Condoms?” Seungcheol asks.

“I’m protected, as long as you’re not some STI-riddled frat boy.”

“I’m clean,” he laughs.

“Me too.”

“So… you’re okay with this?”

“Stop talking and fuck me,” you whine, opening your thighs to expose yourself to him.

You’re wet already, and it’s not just from the orgasms you’d had on cam half an hour ago. No, you’re more turned on than you ever have been before, your pussy already practically aching for something- anything, to lessen the feeling of complete emptiness.

Seungcheol joins you on the bed, and your thighs wrap around his hips.

He presses his lips to yours eagerly, your tongues immediately clashing in a passionate dance.

Your hands grab his strong shoulders, and you love the feeling of your chests pressed together like this. Seungcheol moans, rutting his hips so he can grind down against your wet core.

The sensation of his hard cock teasing your clit has you whimpering, and the kiss deepens.

You’re eager for him, but just as you’d played around by making him wait when you sucked him off, it seems Seungcheol is intent on making you be patient as well.

God, each grind of his hips has your core tensing, your clit nearly throbbing with need.

“Seungcheol,” you whimper, breaking the kiss so you can gasp at the feeling. “Please-” 

His lips move down to your throat, and he teases your sweet spot there, making you moan even louder.

“Please!” you say again, with more force.

This time, Seungcheol does as you ask, his hand slipping between your bodies to grab the base of his cock. He lines himself up with your core, slowly sinking into you inch by inch.

You gasp at the stretch, loving the feeling of his big cock as it splits you open.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans. “So fucking tight.”

You can’t say anything in response, you can only writhe against your bed, your core finally appeased. The sensation of his thick length working every inch of your inner walls- it has you feeling dizzy already, and when he begins to thrust, your mind goes practically blank except for the pleasure that washes over you.

Seungcheol adjusts your thigh, spreading you open so he can sink even deeper. He hits every spot perfectly, and you feel feral as you lay there, taking everything he can give while moaning like a whore in heat.

“You look so good like this,” Seungcheol tells you, panting from the effort. “Could fuck you for hours.”

“Cheol- I’m sensitive!” you warn him.

“Came a few times on cam, but you can still take more, right?” He lets out a small laugh. “What would be the point if you can’t take more?”

“I can cum,” you tell him, nodding enthusiastically. “Just- don’t break me.”

“In one of your shows, you came five times, I think that’s your limit. You just came three times on your show tonight, so I think that gives me two to work with.” 

Your muscles clench at the idea of cumming two more times tonight, but you’re not about to argue with him, so instead you just whimper, “Please.” 

“Anything for you, baby.”

Seungcheol pulls out of you suddenly, and you look at him in confusion, only for his lips to wrap around your nipple. He gropes your other breast, and you can’t help but moan, tangling your fingers in his hair desperately. 

He gives your chest the attention it deserves, and then his mouth continues its descent.

Seungcheol is lying on the bed now, his hands adjusting your thighs so they’re braced over his shoulders. 

“Been thinking about eating this pussy every fucking day,” he tells you. 

“Me too,” you admit.

“Yeah? Bet you were thinking about it during your show earlier.”

“I was,” you whimper, wiggling against the bed, your clit stimulated from his breath alone.

“Guess I shouldn’t make you wait.”

Seungcheol dives in, not holding anything back as he pushes his tongue into your core, rubbing his nose against your clit at the same time.

Your thighs are already beginning to shake, and you grab at the bedding, trying to keep yourself anchored while your muscles begin to tense.

Neither of you needs to say anything else. It’s clear Seungcheol has a goal in mind, and he’s quickly approaching the finish line. There’s something so sexy about a man who’s messy while eating you out, a man who clearly enjoys himself and doesn’t hold anything back.

“Shit,” you whimper, feeling the build up as it begins to tingle through you.

Seungcheol groans against your core, turning his attention to your clit. At the same time he shifts so he can push two fingers into your wet pussy, crooking them so he can stimulate your g-spot.

“Just like that!” you cry out. “Don’t stop!”

Seungcheol has no intentions of stopping, and he works you all the way to your high. 

“Cumming!” you announce, core clamping down on his fingers as intense throbbing errupts through you. 

You know enough about Seungcheol from the last three times he made you cum with his mouth to know he’s not the type of man who stops the moment you orgasm. No, he’s the type to work you through it, to eat you out with even more vigour until your legs are shaking, your heart is racing, and you’re physically pushing him away.

You’re still sensitive from cumming on cam, so it takes very little for you to reach the point of being overstimulated.

One push to his head makes Seungcheol pull away, and he looks up at you.

You’re both breathing heavily, and you watch him lick his lips, his pupils blown as he stares at you.

“That was one of two,” he warns you, and you would find it comical that he’s keeping track like this if you weren’t so overwhelmed from that orgasm.

You open your arms, a wordless urging for him to join you again.

But Seungcheol doesn’t comply, instead, he moves to sit next to you, his back against your headboard.

“Come here,” he says softly, helping you up. You straddle him, and he guides you down onto his cock, which fills your still aching core deliciously.

You both groan from the sensation, and you simply cockwarm him while you get your bearings.

He begins to kiss you, soft kisses that tease your skin.

One of his hands begins to massage your breast, and you let out a sigh of pleasure, throwing your head back.

You grab at his shoulders to anchor yourself, beginning to circle your hips so you can feel how deep he is inside of you.

Seungcheol wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, his lips now moving to your throat.

“You look so good like this,” he tells you, and your core throbs from his words. 

You take a breath, steadying yourself so you can begin to move.

Bouncing is effort, and you know you’re not going nearly as fast as Seuncgheol can go when it comes to fucking, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He lavishes on you, kissing your body, groping your breasts, all the while moaning, which turns you on even more. 

Soon, he’s grabbing your hips, helping you bounce on him. You love how fucking strong he is, the way his biceps bulge with effort.

There’s something so slow and sensual about this, for you to be on top but still controlled by him. It feels amazing, and you feel very close to Seungcheol. There’s no rush; it’s simply an enjoyment of each other, and it allows you to lose yourself in the feeling.

However, soon, you can’t help yourself.

Your hand reaches for your clit, and your entire pussy clenches around Seungcheol as you begin to rub your sensitive bud.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, moving you faster on his cock.

“Want you to cum with me,” you whimper, eyes closed as you focus entirely on the feeling beginning to build inside of you again.

“Let me know when you’re close,” he tells you, continuing to bounce you on his cock. 

You give yourself grace to enjoy the build-up, there’s no pressure or time constraints, and soon, you’re nodding. “Okay, I’m almost there.” 

Seungcheol nods, and with one motion, he flips you onto your back so you’re in missionary again. Now he has full control, and Seungcheol begins to fuck you fast and hard. It’s a contrast to the slow way you’d been moving on top of him, and the new change of pace feels amazing.

You rub your clit even harder, your eyes clenching shut as you get closer and closer to the edge-

“Cheol!” you whimper.

“I’m almost there, too,” he tells you, panting against your throat.

“Fuck, fuck-” Your entire body tenses, and then you fall over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on Seungcheol like a vice and he groans deeply, signalling his own release as he fucks you through your shared high.

You’re both gasping, panting, and clutching each other desperately, with Seungcheol all but burying his face against your throat. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close as his motions start to slow.

The pleasure is surging through you, all the more amplified by the sensation of closeness with Seungcheol.

Soon, he comes to a stop, and you hold him tight, both of you just trying to catch your breath.

You feel Seungcheol swallow, and he pulls away from your neck, looking down at you. “That was amazing.”

“It was,” you agree, teasing your thumb across his cheekbone. “So… you’re my new cameraman.”

He chuckles. “Going to be hard to watch you do any solo things.”

“You’ll just fuck me right after, like this,” you say simply.

“Fuck, what a life.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! If you're interested in Wonwoo's chapter about No Face, find it here

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. Seungcheol has been learning your body, inside and out, and you love that he’s taken the time to understand what makes you tick.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, cam show/ porn, dirty talk, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, cum kink, creampie kink, sexual catering to audience, use of vibrator toy, spanking, ‘pov’ video filming, Seungcheol is her mute fuck toy for the cam show, overstim, squirting, hand job, masturbation, edging, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.1k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Choi Seungcheol x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s been a few months of Seungcheol being your cameraman, and your streams have definitely improved.

It helps to have a businessman with a vision in your corner, and when he’s behind the camera, it’s especially helpful for your content. Seungcheol brings realism to everything, because you can almost act as if there’s no camera at all. It’s just you and Seungcheol, and that taste of reality has brought in a ton of new subscribers. 

He’s your official boyfriend now, but you know he’s been whipped for you from the start. Any man who’s willing to help their girlfriend succeed in the adult content industry is a bit of a simp, but you kind of love that about Seungcheol. In fact, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

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