#but this is what I wrote with the prompt so…

[rafesweetie]

so deadass this would NEVER happen but like could you ever see the boys (topper, rafe, kelce) getting high and horny so rafe let's them fuck u .. (in like s1)

hi screaming.

rafe is always stupidly possessive. it’s not his fault, you’re always getting attention from boys, and seemingly making no effort to stop it. even when his own friends flirt with you, you just bat your eyelashes and let it happen.

his friends aren’t subtle about liking you either. like tonight, for instance. rafe, topper, kelce, and you are all sitting on the outdoor couch on the porch. the boys are all snorting lines of rafe’s coke. there’s also a bong being passed around, and empty beer bottles on the ground. you’re taking hits off of toppers blunt, and of course he doesn’t mind that your lips touch where his were, that your lipgloss leaves a mark on the blunt.

when you leave to get another drink, the guys instantly huddle up to rafe.

they’re not trying to hide it, nor give rafe any lead up, as topper instantly says, “so you gonna let us hit or not?” silence follows.

rafe’s not mad when he’s deep in your ass, abusing it as he praises you, a wreck underneath him. but what he is mad about is the fact that topper is thrusting in your cunt, a part of you he assumed was meant only for him — yet you’re not fighting it. rafe’s too high to think too much of it, he was the one who said yes to this, anyway. kelce was the lucky man to get a blowjob from you, until three dicks inside you seemed like too much, so he took a break and is now simply jerking off.

your boyfriend isn’t a man who would give you up for anything — he’d rather die than let top and kelce fuck you by themselves, without him. so he’s always making sure to be a staple inside one of your holes, always making sure you’re not screaming topper or kelce’s name as they alternate inside of you. rafe’s in denial, as if they’re simple sex toys to amplify the experience.

“yeeeah, you like that, huh?” topper would ask while you’re screaming.

“mhm!!” is all you can get out.

“hey, dude, don’t talk to her like that,” rafe grunts, ever so possessive.

if you dared to utter something like, “oooh, feels so good, kelce!” rafe would manhandle kelce off of you.

there are white lines along your curved back, whoever man is not inside of you would be getting even more wasted and high until it was their turn.

the night ends with all the boys knocked out after the coke and exhaustion from going too hard. your lipgloss and finish is all over the three boys, it’s hard to tell which is which. you’re all sweaty, them especially. you’re back on rafe’s chest right where you belong.

“hey, baby,” rafe mutters when the boys are asleep.

“hm?”

“that satisfy your craving yet?”

you giggle sleepily. “not yet. maybe after a few more rounds?”

he scoffs. “crazy girl.”

[theprplcooki]

Hey, the first rejection didn't sting so bad. I had only applied to the national academy as a joke. However there was one line that did seem rather odd: "I regret to inform you that in accordance with the new law: we can only admit human students to the academy"

I disregarded the statement because I was always told the nature of my magic had a more ancient flavour to it, so I assumed that I had somehow been misread by whatever magical instrument was used to verify my race. I simply wrote an appeal letter and sent it off before the deadline.

But then the second letter came, from the school that was actually my first option. Stating the same thing. Now, I might not be the brightest flame on the altar but I could tell something was up. Nevertheless, I sent the appeal letter and went on with my day helpig my father tend to the plants. But as the days pass, the amount of rejection letters on the kitchen table began to stack. All with the same damning line: "We can only admit human students".

This was getting riduculous and this whole time my father was rather ambivalent and just gave a soft "Hmmm" whenever I brought this up to him. And I used the one thing ot get my father to sit down and talk; food.

With a steaming bowl of his favourite stew, I had him at the kitchen table in no time. What he didn't know, was that I also managed to find a recipe that was mild truth-serum, and acted more like a relaxer and made people a bit more talkative. With how strong the stew's flavours were, the bitterness of the potion were hidden. I had my chance. 'So father, doesn't seem weird that all these magic schools are rejecting me on the basis that I'm not human?"

"No, not really. To be honest, I didn't think you would ever need to know. And then that royal prick had to go and declare new law" I paused. So there was something to hide from me. Choosing my next word s carefully as not to break whatever trance my father seemed to be in, I asked him "What, exactly, did I have no need to ever need?" "That you're not human"

"Yes, dad. I gathered as much. But what is "not human" about me."

"Well, I don't exactly know. Your mother was very pretty though"

Not this again I thought. My father was known to gush over my mother at great lengths whenever I prompted him to tell me about her. He always described her as elegant as ever, a goddes on earth, with the most beautiul eyes - the colour of the golden sun. My mother, according to him, was so beautiful that flowers bloomed at her feet, and the sun seemed to alwasy be glowing right behind her. But hearing my father talked about her under the effects of the potion hit me, hard. Was he not embelishing before this? Did literal flowers bloom at her feet?

Then a thought, a thought so absurd and improbable struck me.

"Dad, was mom a god?"

He looked at me with the face of pure absurdity, the face you give a person who doesn't know that fireballe needs sulphur. I sighed a breath " Oh thank the blessed mother. For a moment ther I thought"--

"Yes she was."

"WHAT"

As an aspiring student of magic, you are trying to get into a magic school, but so far every school has rejected you, claiming that they only accept human students. Time to finally ask your father who your mother really was.

[huxhsz]

🍎 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ikaw lang

— synopsis: caleb is back, but he's different. he looks the same, talks the same—but something about him feels just out of reach, like a melody you can’t quite remember. the boy who used to piggyback you home, who cut apples for you without complaint, who always found a way to annoy and protect you in equal measure—he's not here anymore. and yet, as you watch him silently peel an apple, his hands steady and sure, you realize something. you still want him. even if he’s changed. even if he's not the same. because no matter what, he’s never leaving you again. — note/s: first post on tumblr im a bit intimidated HAHA wrote this while listening to ikaw lang by nobita and also realized i NEED filo caleb. save me filo caleb save me I NEED TO WRITE A FILO COLLEGE/HS AU OF HIM SO BAD

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

caleb has changed, you realize grimly.

he sounds the same, looks the same, talks the same—

but he's not your caleb.

he's not the same caleb who used to piggyback you home after school, he's not the same caleb who would use you as his fake girlfriend to ward off his fangirls, he's not the same caleb who would slice apples for you because you would always complain about being lazy... no.

when you look at this man's—this stranger's—face, you do not see your caleb. you see fleet colonel caleb of the farspace fleet, you see a soldier hardened by war, a man who has seen too much and lost even more.

"—pipsqueak? pipsqueakk— earth to pipsqueak? oh, there she is! hello, what has gotten you so out of it? you're staring, y'know."

caleb raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the kitchen counter like he belongs there. like this is normal. like you haven’t been standing here, silently cataloging every little thing that’s different about him.

"am i?" you blink, tilting your head, feigning ignorance. "you sure it’s not you just being self-conscious?"

"as if," he scoffs, and there—there it is. a glimpse of him, of the boy you knew, the boy who used to flick your forehead whenever you got too smug.

but then it’s gone, swallowed up by something older, something colder.

his fingers tap against the counter, a steady rhythm. you used to recognize all his nervous habits. the way he’d scratch the back of his neck when lying, the way his nose scrunched when he was about to say something stupid. this? this tapping? you don’t know this one.

"well?" he prompts. "you gonna tell me why you’re looking at me like i grew a second head?"

"you’d be lucky if that happened. then you’d have twice the brain cells," you retort automatically. safe. easy. the kind of banter you used to have.

it works. he rolls his eyes, lips twitching like he wants to smirk. "real original. you workshopping that one while zoning out?"

you shrug, moving to the fridge. "maybe."

his eyes follow you. you feel them, just like you feel the weight of his presence in this space that suddenly feels too small. he was gone for so long, and now he’s here, standing in your kitchen like nothing’s changed.

like everything hasn’t.

"you still eat those awful store-bought apple slices?" he asks, nodding toward the fridge.

"mm. got tired of cutting them myself."

he exhales sharply—something between a laugh and a sigh. "figures. lazy as ever."

you expect him to leave it at that, but then, before you can process it, he’s reaching for the fruit bowl on the counter. a knife glints in his hand, and for a second, your breath catches. not because you’re afraid—no, never of him—but because of how he holds it.

not with the careless ease of someone cutting fruit. but with the precise grip of a soldier trained to kill.

a second too late, he seems to realize it too. his fingers shift, adjusting to something more casual, more familiar.

"still want them peeled?" he asks, tone too light.

you force yourself to breathe. "obviously."

he hums. starts peeling. his movements are too smooth, too calculated, but for a moment, if you squint, you can almost pretend.

almost.

he hands you a slice without looking up. you take it.

it tastes the same.

you chew slowly, watching him, waiting for something—anything—that feels real.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable. then, softer, quieter—

"good?"

the apple sits heavy on your tongue.

you swallow.

"yeah."

you chew, swallow, and place the half-eaten slice on the counter. caleb watches, waiting for something—maybe for you to complain about how the pieces aren’t cut evenly like you used to. but you don’t. you just stare at him, this version of him, and you realize something.

you still want him.

not just the boy he used to be—the one who would throw you over his shoulder just to prove he could, the one who’d grumble about being your fake boyfriend but always played the part too well. no, you want this caleb, too. the one who stands before you now, heavier with the weight of things unsaid, carrying shadows you don’t recognize.

your fingers twitch, and before you can overthink it, you reach out. you expect him to flinch when you press your palm against his wrist—his grip tightens just slightly around the knife, but he doesn’t pull away.

"caleb." you say his name like an answer to a question neither of you have asked.

his jaw tightens. he sets the knife down, slow and deliberate. when he finally looks at you, his eyes are searching, guarded—but underneath it, there’s something raw. something afraid.

"i know," he says. and it’s barely a whisper, but you hear everything. the guilt, the exhaustion, the hesitation.

you exhale. "i never said anything."

"you don’t have to." his lips press into a thin line. "i can tell."

you consider denying it, telling him he’s being dramatic, but you’re tired of pretending. so instead, you squeeze his wrist, grounding him.

"it’s okay," you say quietly. "if you’re no longer the same caleb I knew."

his breath hitches. you feel it more than you hear it.

"because either way—" you tighten your grip, firm, unwavering, "you’re never leaving me again."

his body stills. like he’s waiting for the catch, for the conditions, for something that makes this feel less like a promise and more like a fleeting moment he can let slip through his fingers.

but you don’t take it back.

caleb swallows. his free hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

"say it again," he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

you step closer. "you’re never leaving me again. i won't let you."

this time, he exhales shakily, as if he’s been holding his breath for years. and then—finally—he rests his forehead against yours.

neither of you move.

the apples sit forgotten on the counter.

(caleb drops a bag onto the counter with a dull thud.

you glance at it, then at him. “what’s this?”

“apples,” he says, already rolling up his sleeves.

you blink. “they’re not pre-cut.”

“no shit,” he snorts, pulling out a knife. "figured you were overdue for the real thing.”

you watch as he starts peeling—smooth, practiced movements, no hesitation. he still holds the knife like a soldier, but his hands are steady, deliberate. for you.

a slice appears in front of your face. you take it without a word. it tastes fresher, sweeter.

he smirks. “better than that store-bought crap?”

you chew, swallowing down something thick in your throat, replacing it with something lighter in your chest.

“…yeah.”)

[moon-ttokki-x]

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

[cherrycheolkat]

seungcheol + forced masturbation!!

hiiii anon, so this is a continuation of the previous fic i wrote for the prof. seungcheol prompt (in case you missed it) - so let's call this part ii

♡ kat

bingo square: f0rced masturbation (prof. choi, pt. ii)

pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

summary: prof. choi has a new kind of session with his favorite student 

genre: college au, professor!cheol, collegestudent!reader

word count: 0.8k

rating: 18+, mdni

warnings: explicit language, smut, fingering, masturbation, dom/sub undertones, penetrative sex

it was late when he called you - something he almost never did. you could hear papers shuffling in the background when he asked you to come to his office. his voice was calm like always. 

before he hung up, he had paused for a beat, “wear the skirt i like.”

he was sitting on the edge of his desk, waiting for you. he gestured for you to sit on the couch that faced his desk. it was leather and not especially comfortable, not that you ever complained to him. 

you were both quiet. the longer he watched you in silence, the more you squirmed internally. 

finally, he sighed, “you want a good grade don’t you, y/n?” his voice was almost sweet. 

you nodded. of course you did, even if you were doing horribly. 

“then touch yourself,” he whispered. 

you watched him, knowing he meant what he said, but you wanted to know what the game was. you were here late at night, and he only wanted to watch - it wasn’t…he liked to be in control, you wondered what he was thinking. 

when you didn’t move quickly enough, he walked over, shoving you back onto the sofa, “did i ask for something difficult, y/n?” his voice was tight, as he pinned your shoulders to the sofa. 

his gaze was intense, and when you still didn’t answer or move, he let go of your shoulders, grabbing your thighs instead and forcing them wide. 

“i’m asking for something so simple, and here you are quibbling over what exactly?” he asked, as he ripped your underwear to the side, his fingers slamming into you. “all the things i’ve done to you, and you can’t just do what i’m asking?”

you whined at the contact, your hands squeezing his shoulders, “fuck,” you gasped. 

he pulled his fingers free though, smacking your pussy roughly, making you yelp. 

he sighed, glancing at you, “you’re wet for me, when i haven’t even touched you,” he leaned close, his lips a breath from yours. 

“now, play with yourself, or maybe i fail you, or maybe i go to the dean to report your little extracurricular activities, hmm?” he rasped - there was no bite in his voice. 

still, you swallowed roughly, nodding, “okay,” you finally whispered. 

he moved to let you free your hand and to sit back to watch. he still held your thighs apart, waiting. 

he watched you as you stuck your first and second finger between your lips, wetting them before reaching down to feel your pussy. he was right that you were wet, but he had asked for you to do it the way you did it when you were alone, so you didn’t skip any steps. 

you traced your fingers around your clit - you liked to tease yourself the way you imagined he would. when you dipped your fingers into yourself, you moaned softly, whispering his name, imagining your fingers were his. 

you pushed them deeper, wanting to fill yourself as much as possible. 

you heard the heavy way he exhaled, “even alone you want me to be stretching you, don’t you?”

you nodded, “always,” you murmured, “always wanting you,” you whispered as you pushed your fingers as deep as you could and scissored them apart, whining gently. you were sore from the day before, from what he had done. 

you weren’t watching him as closely - you were lost in what you were doing. thinking about him, his dick, and everything he did to you with it. you finally popped your fingers free from your pussy, stroking your clit, and reaching under your shirt with your free hand, squeezing your breast and teasing your nipple. all the time, you could feel his grip tightening on your thighs, squeezing you - you hoped he would leave bruises. 

you waited for him to say something, to give some kind of direction, but he didn’t. he only watched as you finally came apart on your own fingers, shivering, cum dripping, while you moaned his name.

you were almost shocked to feel his lips make contact with yours. the way he licked into you - you groaned, wanting him. 

it was the way it became sloppy that was new, sloppy and unplanned. when his cock slid into you so easily, filling you exactly how you wanted - it felt like you were even further from what normally went on in his office when you were alone with him. he was fucking into you, genuinely fucking you. there was no patience, no rules, just two bodies connecting as though they desperately wanted to become one. 

and when he kissed you after it was over, all soft and lingering, and he didn’t rush you away with some new thing to ponder, you wondered what was happening. what was happening with you and seungcheol. 

a/n: uwu cheol being low key soft - i cannot help that i am a soft, fluffy monster lurking in the dark okay

♡ kat

if you want to submit a bingo ask the newest bingo is [here] but there are still open squares from the previous two [here] and nsfw only bingo is [here]

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu ☁︎ @tinyelfperson ☁︎ @lovetaroandtaemin ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite ☁︎ @gigglensnort ☁︎

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

bingo master list [MDNI]: oral sex (gyucheol) | lingerie + praise kink (gyu) | knotting + marking (cheol) | bed sharing + big dick (gyu)| praise + worship kink (gyu) | prof. choi (cheol) | monster seungcheol (cheol) | seungcheol + spanking (cheol) | vehicle sex + oral fixation (gyu) | drunk pda + no underwear (gyu) | big dick!checol + hate sex (cheol) |

[luminanightfall]

#danny phantom#eldritch danny#ancient of space danny#probably not what you were imagining in the original prompt#but as soon as i started writing silly little ideas#the conversation barged into my mind and wrote itself#hope it's good#Danny probably also has to get the baby speech fro Jazz#and why you should ask first before mentioning the baby's gender#the local twig of a kid you probably helped babysit at one point looks at your belly and coments on how 'your daughter's getting so big!!!'#you didn't even know yet#but he does#everyone has questions after that

where's my Danny that can see the ghosts no one else can see.

where's my Danny constantly watching all the spirits of little rodents and roadkill roaming the town, the ones that aren't strong enough to manifest to the point to be seen by humans, but can definitely be seen by a fellow ghost.

where's my Danny being able to see and smell the auras of all the humans around him to the point where he can pinpoint someone's exact emotion without even speaking to them.

where's my Danny that can hear all the otherworldly sounds human ears fall deaf to.

where's my Danny that people give funny looks to bc they see him bending down and talking to thin air.

where's my Danny who's the only one able to perceive these things and see beyond the veil?

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/776643370692034560/unhinged-confession-time-i-used-to-functionally?source=share

The neat thing about not having written self-inserts and being a man is 1. being accused of being a trans man with internalized misogyny (even though trans men would have regular-ass misogyny due to, y'know, being men) and 2. being posted to r/notlikeotherguys for mockery. A lot of people have noticed the group most likely to admit to not writing self-inserts are AFABs and have punished them for their honesty by making it both a lying women thing and a special snowflake red flag.

But yeah. Dude here. Never fantasized about myself sexually. Don't write self-inserts. Tried once, aaaand ended up writing a very different person anyway because the opportunity to go, "what if someone had the same setup as me in terms of a lot of things, but a few things were tweaked and now his life is in ruins?" was impossible not to give into. I don't project onto main characters. I don't see myself in characters that authors admitted they designed to be projected onto, like Eragon or isekai leads or that gamer dude from Ready Player One. I rarely appear in my own dreams.

I got sent to the counselor's office in middle school for not wanting to write about myself in English class. The prompt was writing yourself getting everything you wanted from a genie. I thought that sounded boring. I wanted to live that, not write it. This was deemed concerning, unwell behavior and I spent an hour a day for one week trying to convince the counselor it was not. Eventually I had my parents meet with the principal, my English teacher, and the counselor where my parents had the very arduous task of explaining I was fine. I had good grades, good friends, career ambitions, I wrote short stories, fanfic, poetry and comics, I was on the swim team, and I was not, in fact, depressed. No one was bullying me. No teacher ever tore up my writing when I was a child, a thing my English teacher insisted would be the "only way" someone would consistently grumble about how boring it was to write themselves in a story.

After an hour-long discussion, it was agreed that fine, okay, I wouldn't have to talk to the counselor anymore, but "concerned people" would be watching me.

So OTNF, prepare yourself. You may one day have to convince people your very happy, social, outgoing child is fine even though they have committed the mental health red flag of not wanting to write self-insert wish fulfillment. And my reaction was only that it was boring. God only knows what they'd have thought if I was actually repulsed by it.

--

*cackling*

[owiil]

Sterek prompt:

Phonecall where one of them accidentally falls asleep

I'm so sorry that this took so long! 😥 I got hit by inspo for my current WIP and kind of, flitted over to focus on that for awhile. Also... uh... my initial thought for this prompt was so cute and fuzzy. Like, Stiles at college, Sterek night time phone calls, Stiles exhausted while studying, adorableness. And then I wrote this:

"Where are you?”

Stiles sighed, feeling woozy and dizzy and a bit like he was both floating and very, awfully heavy at the same time. His teeth were numb and his cheeks felt hot while the rest of him felt rather cold and he was really, just, kind of holding on to Derek’s voice because it was the only thing that seemed really real.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“Where are you?”

Oh. Right. Location. Location.

His eyes slid across the world like molasses. “An alley. Between two dumpsters. One’s green and the other is white.” He snorted. “The white one has a recycle logo on it. In what world is the white one the recycle? It’s always green. It’s supposed to be the green one. For nature.”

“Stiles.” There was an edge to Derek’s voice, sharp and hard enough to cut through Stiles’ indignation about the recycle dumpster being the wrong color and bring him back to the conversation. “An alley where?”

With a hum, he leaned forward. Grunted at the tearing sensation in his gut. Leaned a bit more until he was panting ragged breaths but could finally see past the dumpsters. “Can’t see a street sign. No people.” Until and unless Trent, or whatever his actual name was, unless it was Trent, which—ugh, Trent—managed to track him down.

“Anything that���s not a street sign? Anything?”

“Orange and yellow neon across the street.” He squinted his eyes, found it didn’t help clear his vision, and finally had to lean back because the pain his stomach had grown too much, also, he was loosing strength in his arm, could tell from the way he felt a wash of wet warmth down his front, soak into his pants. “Maybe a palm.” He panted a ragged breath. “Palm reader? Why does it matter anyway? Use your nose.”

“We’re still recovering from the grenade yesterday.”

Or what Stiles had called a grenade. It had been a magical explosive, not a literal one. Good for Stiles. Less good for the wolves who could barely get into a beta shift and whose senses were cut down to a pittance of what they normally were at.

“Right.” Shit. “Maybe I should call 9-1-1 instead.”

“What.” Not even a question, just a straight up demand.

Stiles’ eyes rolled in a very slow circle before landing on himself and immediately darting away with a haste he hadn’t managed to achieve up to that point. “I am bleeding,” he said, strained and a little nauseated, “a lot.”

“What?” A question that time, snappish.

“I— Did I not—?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips only to be as dry as them and he frowned. “I may have gotten stabbed. Sorry I didn’t mention that.”

“Shit.”

“’s okay. I’m positive I’ve been worse off before.” He thought. Was pretty sure. He took a deep breath, winced, and let his too heavy head thump back against the concrete wall behind him. “I could try that teleportation spell, probably. It’s blood magic. I definitely have enough of it.”

“You are not trying teleportation magic for the first time while you are…” Derek snarled.

Stiles’ lips twitched into a small, amused smile. Always leave it to Derek to be skittish and nervous around new magics. It was kind of hilarious. Stiles didn’t tease him about it nearly as much as he needed to. “Alright.” He took another breath and shivered. “Alright.” God his phone weighed a ton. Pulling it away from his ear he put it on speaker, though between the blood and his jittery fingers and the trouble he was having with his vision it took a few tries. When he did, Derek’s voice came through, mid sentence.

“—e Black Rose?”

“Where I started?” Stiles asked back, letting his hand and the phone drop to his side. “Yeah.”

“In the back alley.”

“He was such a good kisser before he stabbed me…”

A beat of silence and Stiles thought maybe he’d fallen asleep for a moment or the line cut out because Derek wasn’t one to takes beats of silence on phone calls, not unless he really had the time, then he was very much a beat of silence kind of person. Too many beats of silences.

“Did you…” A beat.

Weird.

“Did you take your shirt off?”

“Yeah, the make out was great before the knife showed up. Aside from being a psycho witch, his heavy petting game is really top notch.” Lids terribly heavy, Stiles let his eyes slide shut. Besides, the sound of Derek’s voice seemed to be dulling the— “Oh.”

“What?”

“Think I’m gonna pass out soon.”

“No.”

Stiles tried to open his eyes. It was a genuine fight. “I’m cold,” he said, taking another laborious breath. “And the pain’s starting to dull a bit. So, you know, you might want to call an ambulance.”

“Stiles,” was the last thing he heard before his eyes rolled up and he slumped over, sliding limply along the concrete wall into the pile of garbage bags to his left.

⟪more of my tumblr fics here⟫

[roomwithanopenfire]

Stats Sunday

Happy March!! Thanks for the tag @nausikaaa! Unfortunately, my goal is to make this banner worse every month, so be prepared—we've only just begun.

Early post for me. I should be sleeping but I started making my graphs and then... well, here we are.

Here's my February Recap loll. Stats and graphs and musings incoming. (this post is so long but i promise there's a snippet in here)

Rest of post is under the cut. It is long. You've been warned.

I've posted two things last month! A valentine's day fic for Ebb/Fiona and Chapter 3 of the Way We Are. (Technically i posted 3 but this stranger things oneshot was posted on the 1st and written in January so it feels like January's accomplishment)

Total words written for February: 14405 (this beats Jan by 460 words!)

Days I met my writing goal (200 words): 20

Days I didn't write or edit anything: 4

Day I wrote the most: Feb 11th with 2249 (this beats last month's high score of 1717!)

Number of Fics worked on: 10 technically, but i have not been consistent with most of them. mainly worked on 3.

Daily Average: 514 words (but like last month i am highly inconsistent and my WC varies wildy depending on the day)

(I really like the little curve in the middle. also two the days that look like zero are actually 1 words, which is my placeholder if i spend all day editing)

And here's a pie chart to show my WC distribution across projects. Tbh a lot of these were fics that i've had in my fic ideas doc and all i did was make a google doc for them and word barf onto it my ideas, that's why there's so many small slices.

some slices are so small you don't even get to know my placeholder names. also i hope the title THTHIPWGI intrigues you, i'm always excited when i can title a fic right away and refer to it by a fun accyromn on my spreadsheet.

Other notable things from February:

I finished writing all of The Way We Are!! (kind of. i have one more scene to write. Monica's fault.)

I took over the @carry-on-sapphic-week event!! Check out the prompts if you haven't yet <3

I've received So Many beautiful valentines from the CO discord servers exchange. my mailbox and my heart has been full

The CO fandom was able to raise $500 for Fandom Trumps Hate!! (and I got to make a spreadsheet bc of this!!!) (also i won two auctions from this, one for each fandom i'm in)

My car battery died and I had to get a new one :/

I started a new journal!

I finally figured out how to spell February

my savage worlds campaign finally got our ship back and made it off this stupid planet that we've been on forever.

i've started watching Yellowjackets and I'm really enjoying it

I read so many CO AU fest fics and each one of them was so good. I think i've read all except one so far, and honestly this fest has been so fun i'm obsessed with you guys, you're are so talented.

SPEAKING of CO AU fest fics, @fiend-for-culture's fic, Everything In Between, is SO good, i've been thinking about it all week. you should read it (and leave a comment so i can read it bc i'm stalking the comments on this fic and there's not enough to sate me)

i have spring break in just one week!!

Okay, i promised you words, so here's a snip from my COBB.

“And I’m sorry,” Simon says. “For what?” “Driving you off yesterday.” “That wasn’t your fault. I was being terrible.” “Yeah,” Simon agrees. “But I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that.” I make a face. “I’m not having a heart-to-heart with you, Snow.” Simon groans. “Why do you have to do that?" "What" "Everytime I think we're making progress you say something nasty like that."

sorry this post is so long, thank you for reading if you made it this far

tags, hellos, and apologies:

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @argumentativeantitheticalg @artsyunderstudy @arthurkko

@beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog @best--dress @bookishbroadwayandblind @bookish-bogwitch

@the-beard-of-edward-teach @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @ciescen @confused-bi-queer

@cutestkilla @drowninginships @facewithoutheart @emeryhall @fiend-for-culture

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @theimpossibledemon @jyae23

@larkral @lovelettersto-mars @meanjeansjeans @m1ndwinder @monbons

@noblecorgi @orange-peony @prettygoododds @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@run-for-chamo-miles @rbkzz @shrekgogurt @simonscones @skee3000

@supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer @talentpiper11 @toc-the-scrambled @thewholelemon

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

added some new ppl to this tag list, feel free to share a wip you're working on—art, fic, etc. it does not have to stats like mine is loll. i use wipsdays as my soapbox.

[starcurtain]

hi, me again. so like. i have NO idea how to write omegaverse. like yeah, i definitely was the beta reader for a 165k word omegaverse fic in a fandom that shall not be named, but. i?? how does one even BEGIN

(sincerely, sweating nervously)

Cryinggggg--I wrote like a massive response to this and then my cat jumped on the keyboard and closed the tab. Sorry if this response is not as great as it could have been. RIP my 1500 words. 😭 But trying to rewrite the original response:

I wish I could tell you, but... This is probably a bad time to confess that every fic I've ever written barely rises above the level of gen fic... because I'm super ace. Like, I can think up romance plots, but can I actually write them? PROBABLY NOT. 😂

However, if this is about the omegaverse plot in the Phaidei fic posts, I can share some other thoughts I had about that prompt, and maybe some of this will help you?

I think my key idea for this fic was that it focuses most on Mydei's issues with his body, and how he struggles because the way he looks externally just does not match who he is internally. Like yes, he values the physical strength and dominating presence because they help him keep command of the Kremnoan army and garner his people's respect, but... the whole thing is based on a lie. He's not the overpowering alpha they think he is, and honestly, he doesn't even want to be. He can't abandon rulership and leave his people to fend for themselves, so he has to keep his true identity as an omega secret, but if he had a choice, he would never choose to be this "strange" half-and-half existence. Why can't he just have been born like everyone else? Hell, even though Kremnos treats their male omegas terribly, it still might have been better to have born actually looking like a delicate omega than to be just... stuck between the two.

The point of the fic, obviously, is Mydei coming to accept himself as he is and recognizing that he is worthy of love, even if he doesn't fit his own culture's definition of "acceptable." But the problem is that he's spent so long living the lie that he's internalized it: Mydei is convinced that no one will ever want someone as "incomplete" as him. He's never let himself even consider the dream of having a mate, because how could he ever find someone willing to both keep his secret and accept a mate who doesn't fit anyone's standard for "normal"?

Meanwhile, poor Phainon is down bad. He thinks Mydei is also an alpha like him, but even if alpha-alpha partnerships are frowned on in Okhema, he doesn't care in the slightest. He would want Mydei with any secondary gender, in any form. He just wants Mydei, no matter what. The only thing holding Phainon back is his own anxiety: Sure he doesn't care about being with another alpha, but would Mydei care? Would Mydei think he's strange and reject him outright? Would it make things terribly awkward between them and damage their mission with the Chrysos Heirs? Would Mydei refuse to even look at him if he knew Phainon's interests would persist no matter what their current society defines as right or wrong?

Mydei, on the other hand, is SUFFERING™. He's an unmated omega with a clingy, unclaimed alpha around him at all times, one who has no boundaries about personal space and scenting because he thinks Mydei is another alpha. It is driving Mydei insane. Mydei can barely spend time with Phainon in the weeks leading up to his heats because Phainon keeps bringing on the symptoms early. (Stupid Deliverer, this is all your fault...) It's the worst thing ever because that's him. That's the best damn alpha Mydei is ever going to meet, the only person he's ever encountered that he could actually imagine being mates with, and Mydei's body is just... useless. Unappealing to an actual alpha. Socially unacceptable. Mydei is in love and also miserable.

(Basically, the feelings are very mutual but social pressure is making them both hesitate and think there isn't any way they can be together. Phainon just doesn't know the truth or realize Mydei's feelings, but even if Mydei knows they'd technically match, Phainon is Okhema's golden boy "Deliverer." Choosing someone who looks like another alpha, and is even Kremnoan on top of that, would only ruin his reputation.)

Maybe if anyone in this universe was capable of communicating, they wouldn't have such a hard time. 😂

Some other smaller things I was thinking of too:

Mydei being super good with kids and imagining himself having his own, but thinking something like that is out of his reach. The angst is real.

Mydei also super soft on Tribbie. He knows they're not actual children, but tell that to his instincts, because the message is not getting through.

Phainon totally misunderstanding Mydei's flat-out refusal to be naked with him in the bath. Yikes, Mydei won't even bathe with another alpha? He definitely isn't interested in me. T_T

Castorice being able to somehow magically sense people's secondary genders (I don't know how, Thanatos bullshit go~!), so she actually knows Mydei is an omega but she has no idea what to do with that information because clearly he's keeping it a secret? She's trying so hard to be supportive and to give Phainon and Mydei the encouragement they need, but ugh, these boys are so stupid.

Aglaea is a girlbossing alpha in the background. She doesn't actually know Mydei isn't an alpha, but she's suspicious, because Phainon is always accidentally challenging her authority while Mydei, despite looking like the most powerful alpha in the room, is strangely content to let her lead.

Kremnoan female omegas are as tough or tougher than the alphas of other societies, so the "normal" relationship in Kremnos is an alpha of any gender with a female omega. On the other hand, male omegas from Kremnos are super rare and tend to look very delicate; because they're unsuited for war, they basically get no respect in Kremnoan society. If Mydei revealed that he was an omega, the Kremnoans would definitely strip him of his authority. He's worried that they'll make the wrong choices if he does that, so he has to keep his secret or risk harm to his people.

I think this would have to be a world where betas either don't exist or are so rare that they don't even figure into the equation, because if Mydei could just pass himself off as a beta, that would kind of defeat the plot. 😂

Phew, I think that kind of covers what I originally typed. T_T Obviously you wouldn't have to use any of this, but I hope maybe this might give you an idea or two to help start?

[ssentimentals]

Number 13 with cheol? Maybe they're spies and reader confesses while drugged 🫠

hi hi! sure, that sounds very fun, thank you for requesting! 💜

prompt: drunken/drugged/sleepy confessions

seungcheol knows this unfocused and glazed over look very well. he curses inwardly, slowly stepping into your space. his eyes scan your body for any physical damage and he sighs in relief, when he finds none. you groan, holding your head like it's about to burst and he kneels in front of you, frowning. 'what kind of professional drinks whatever was given to them,' he reprimands although his tone lacks any bite. being on this mission with you has been one hell of a challenge due to unexpected circumstances, but so far you handled them perfectly well. he should've known something like this was bound to happen. 'how could you not notice?'

'shut up,' you mutter without looking up. 'you try saying 'no' to bunch of rich misogynists who are shoving their drinks at you without looking like a bitch and angering them. good luck.'

that shuts cheol up very quickly. he knows you're one of a kind in this field - it's weirdly nice to see that you're also a human who can make mistakes. he sort of idolized you from afar and thought that this image will shatter when you two finally get a mission together, but the complete opposite happened - meeting you in real life and getting to know you more made him like you even more. 'i think we have around ten minutes before that performance will end,' he says, leaning a bit closer to you. 'did you throw up to flash toxins out?'

you nod. slowly you lift your head, meeting his gaze dead on. you're paler than usual and your pupils are blown disproportionately wide; gaze is still unfocused but not overly so. your eyes trace his features and you suddenly lean on, hiding your face in his neck. 'how do you do this, fuck,' you mutter.

seungcheol catches you when you start sliding down the chair and gathers you in his arms in surprise. your warmth breath tickles and he shudders when you move your head, whispering right into his skin: 'clocked two guards and still look so perfect, so handsome. how is this even fair, hm?'

the only thing that comes out of cheol's mouth on this is: 'huh?'. which is not very intelligent, he's aware, but he's too shocked to work on a proper response. and it seems like you don't really need it, judging by how you snuggle further to his side. clock is ticking but seungcheol is a weak man and instead of getting up, he only hugs you tighter, caressing your naked back. your skin is silk under his fingertips and when you whisper 'i like the way you hold me', he can't help but press a kiss on top of your head. he doesn't know what they gave you, but it doesn't seem very bad - just loosens your tongue, which currently is working in his favor. 'are you sleepy?' he asks quietly. 'or nauseous? if i may i'd suggest throwing up again to make sure that-'

'so caring,' you interrupt, yawning. your body is not burning up and seungcheol sighs in relief - not a poison then. 'so cute. so handsome.'

he chuckles. 'what an honor to hear all of it from you,' he says and quickly rearranges his hold on you. 'i'm going to stand up now, careful.' he easily stands up with you in his arm. 'all good?'

'mhm.' you yawn again and wrap your arms around his neck. 'i like you, seungcheol. and i'm very sleepy.'

seungcheol smiles, leaning his cheek on top of your head. is this bad that he's kind of happy with how everything turned out? 'i hope you remember this when you wake up, because i like you too.' trying to walk without jostling you too much, seungcheol opens the door and passes two knocked down guards, going to the safe place in this house.

you scrunch your nose unhappily. 'i think i'll forget,' you mutter cutely.

seungcheol chuckles. 'it's alright. i will remind you of it tomorrow.' he kisses your head, making you hum sweetly. 'now rest. i'll take care of everything.'

a/n: this is first ever spy!au thing i wrote so i hope it's not very bad :( - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[sequinsmile-x]

Crest

“It’s our honeymoon,” he says, gripping her thigh even tighter, his fingertips pressed against sunkissed skin that somehow looked even more gorgeous than normal. Impossibly softer and smoother because of her almost pathological insistence on sunscreen and aftersun. She’d spent days rubbing it into his skin as well as her own, diligently making sure she was covering every part of him that was exposed as she joked about the tan lines the immobiliser would leave him, “I want to have sex with my wife.”

AKA - the one where Aaron injuries his shoulder on honeymoon and Emily is distracted from the doctor's advice by her husband's beard.

A one shot in my series of unrelated kissing prompt fics

-x-

Hi besties,

I cannot believe I made it 21 prompts into this series before I wrote a smutty one. I also cannot believe it's been 10 months since I wrote smut...no wonder I feel rusty at it.

This one is 'jaw kisses'. And the thought process essentially went 'jaw kisses = Bearded Aaron. Bearded Aaron = smut.' And here we are hahaha

Feeling oddly anxious about this one, probably because it's been so long since I last wrote smut, so please do let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Words: 3.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

From the moment Aaron proposed, Emily wanted to plan the honeymoon.

She wanted to get away from everything with him. To have a rare, uninterrupted week or two with the man she loves. There was something endlessly romantic about it, a side of her that only Aaron could bring out - his smile and the way he’d look at her forever making her stomach flip like she was a teenage girl in love for the first time, not a woman in her 40s in love for the last. 

Aaron lets her plan it. He doesn’t say anything - baring a quick raise of his eyebrows when he sees how much it’s cost her - and he doesn’t ask any questions, seemingly aware of how important it was to her that it was a surprise. More than once in the lead up to their wedding, a beautiful simple day that cost significantly less than the 10 day vacation they left on the following day, she wanted to tell him her plans. Wanted to show him the pictures of the private beach villa she’d booked in the Bahamas and see the delight in his eyes at the beauty of it, but she’d kept it to herself, waved off any playful attempts he made to pull the information out of her, her teeth sinking into her lower lip every time he tried to coax the information out of her during sex. 

It was worth it when they got to the airport and he learnt where they were going. It was worth it again when she told him they were flying business class, and once again when he saw the villa they’d called home the last 10 nights. It was beautiful - an almost perfect start to her married life with the man who was absolutely perfect for her - and she would miss every part of it when they went home. 

She smiles at Aaron, briefly taking her eyes off the road as she turns to look at him in the passenger seat, her eyes flicking to the immobiliser on his left arm. 

She’d miss almost every part of the honeymoon. 

When they get back to the villa, they head straight to the bedroom, both tired and achingly aware of how early they had to leave for the flight home. She smiles at him as he sits on the bed, and she opens the sliding doors that lead out to the porch and the ocean view before she joins him. She slips onto the bed next to him, sighing contentedly as her shoulder bumps against his good one. They usually slept on the opposite sides, but they’d switched as soon as they came back from the hospital, the doctor’s warning that he should refrain from strenuous activities ringing in her ears as she slumped onto the side of the bed he usually slept on.

If she couldn’t have sex with her husband, she was damn sure going to snuggle with him. 

He rests his hand on her thigh as soon as she’s settled, his sigh content as he kisses her temple, “I’m going to miss that view.” 

“Me too,” she nods, her eyes fixed on the moon and its reflection on the water. Her eyes drift shut as she listens to the crash of the waves on the shore, her head on his shoulder as she wraps both of her arms around his good one, “I’ll miss this.” 

He takes the opportunity to look at her. To study her tanned skin, the patch of freckles on her shoulder that she’d told him she got one summer when she was a teenager and less diligent with sunscreen, and how she seemed to just glow here. How the beauty he’d always been drawn in by - even before he was hers and she was his - seemed more ethereal in their own little bubble of paradise. She was all long limbs, tanned skin and flowing dresses he’d never seen before but would buy her a thousand of if it meant he got to see her in them more often, no matter how impractical they would be in DC.

He runs his hand up and down her thigh, his palm disappearing under the olive green linen, the slit in her dress giving him access to her skin. He feels her thigh tense beneath his palm, and she turns her head to kiss his jaw, her lips catching on his beard.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mr Hotchner,” she mumbles, kissing him again before she pulls back, a sparkle in her eyes that he’d always been powerless in the wake of, “We both know what the doctor said.” 

“It’s our honeymoon,” he says, gripping her thigh even tighter, his fingertips pressed against sunkissed skin that somehow looked even more gorgeous than normal. Impossibly softer and smoother because of her almost pathological insistence on sunscreen and aftersun. She’d spent days rubbing it into his skin as well as her own, diligently making sure she was covering every part of him that was exposed as she joked about the tan lines the immboilser would leave him, “I want to have sex with my wife.”

She hums sympathetically at him, linking her fingers through his as she lifts his hand to her lips, stamping a kiss against his knuckles, “You’re hurt.” 

He sighs, his forehead against hers as his disappointed exhale skips across her face. She’s not unaffected either. He looks good with a tan, and he’s grown out his beard on her request. He looks like he did when she returned from Paris, although a little thicker around the waist - no longer bordering on being too thin after months of neglecting his own needs in a subconscious attempt to punish himself for the choices he’d made for her. When she’d seen him as she stepped into the conference room, standing there in his casual linen clothes and his arms crossed over his chest, the sharp pull of desire in her belly had been the first thing other than fear that she’d felt for months. She’d had to shake it off, pretend she didn’t keep looking at his beard and the way it spread down past his jaw onto his neck, that she didn’t wonder how it would feel scratching against her skin. There were more important things to worry about, and by the time Ian was dead and she was thrust back into her life months after dying to save it, Aaron had shaved, and he was back in a suit - a stark but much needed reminder that he’d already slot back into his normal life and she had to try to find a way to do the same. 

Since then, since their relationship moved from friendship, to partners and now to husband and wife, she’d told him more than once how much she’d liked the beard. She’d press her palm to his cheek to feel the first appearance of his stubble against her skin before he’d shave in the morning, and she’d playfully lament his desire to be neat and tidy - even though she loved that too. It meant he was hers to undo, hers to see at the end of the day when he took off his tie and rolled his sleeves up to make them dinner.

He looks the same as he did in the conference room close to two years ago, but he’s happier and healthier - except for the immobiliser holding his left arm to his chest - and he’s hers. She doesn’t have to imagine how it feels to feel his beard scratch against her skin, and she knows exactly how it feels to sink into his embrace. 

She just wished more than anything that her amazing, handsome, stupid, husband hadn’t attempted surfing a few days ago and dislocated his shoulder as a result. She’d watched from the shoreline - keeping to her word that on this vacation she’d simply sunbathe, read her books, drink cocktails and have sex with her husband - as he fell from his surfboard, disappearing into a wave that had made her nervous the moment she’d seen it. 

His instructor had pulled him out of the water, and she knew the moment he was close enough to the shore to stand that he’d hurt himself, his left arm held delicately against his chest with his right. He was embarrassed, and she knew that, which was why she was already preparing herself to defend him to their friends when they get home, to stop any mocking in its tracks as soon as they found out that he - their fearless leader - had attempted to surf for the first time in his life for no reason other than to try and impress his wife watching from the shore. 

“We could be careful,” he says somewhere near her hairline, and she pulls back to look at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she feels her resolve start to crumble, “It’s our last night here.” 

She smiles, and he knows he’s won, knows that she wants him just as much as he wants her, and she kisses his jaw again before she hikes up her dress and hooks her leg his. She settles against him, her nose knocking against his as she settles in his lap, her hips bracketing his. She hooks her arms around his neck and kisses him, moaning into it when he wraps his arm around his, his palm wide and warm through the thin material of her dress. 

She pulls back, her forehead resting against his. She tries to catch her breath, her hand on his cheek as she scratches his beard, the rasp of her nails against it rolling through her chest, “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He smiles at her - all dimples and charm she would have once thought he wasn’t capable of - and she knows whatever meagre attempt she was making at fighting this was already lost. 

“You never could.” 

He surges forward, his hand insistent on her back as he pulls her closer. She feels warmth crackle between the two of them, a summer storm she’d never get enough of as his thumb and pinky finger somehow skim both sides of her waist at the same time. She wraps both of her arms around his neck, tasting the delicious groan that escapes him as she rolls her hips against his. The kiss turns into a mashing of teeth and lips as she smiles too widely as his hand drifts down to her ass and squeezes, pushing her hips closer to his. She chuckles as she pulls back just enough to speak

“Insatiable,” she mutters, as if she’s any better, as if she isn’t reaching between them to undo his pants and help him get them and his boxes down far enough for him to spring free of them. She swallows down his moan by kissing him as she wraps her hand around him, the way he clenches his teeth and grunts out her name enough to make goose pimples spread across her skin. 

“Em,” he mutters, frustration at only being able to use one of his hands, at not being able to touch her in the way he wanted to chasing the arousal around his blood, “Sweetheart.” 

She shushes him, the sound comforting and soft as she kisses his cheek and then his jaw, leaving a trail down his neck until she reaches his bare skin just above the collar of his shirt. He grasps at her, his blunt nails digging into her flesh through the thin material of her dress as she pumps him up and down. He tugs at her dress, desperate to feel more of her as he pulls it up over her thighs until it’s gathered around her hips. He groans again, his forehead against her collarbone when his fingers are met by nothing but her, his fingers pressed against paler strips of soft skin that had been hidden from the sun by her bikinis. 

“No underwear?” He asks, his voice rough and gravelly, and she smiles at him, her eyes darker than usual as she shakes her head. 

“I didn’t want panty lines.” 

It’s only a half-truth, and they both know it, but it doesn’t matter because he’s running his fingers through her, his thumb catching on her clit as she leans forward, her forehead against his good shoulder as she tenses, pleasure and desperation crackling up her spine. She lifts her head to kiss him, on edge after days of not doing this even though she’d wanted to, and she raises her hips, using the hand she still has wrapped around him to guide him into her. She gasps at the familiar stretch of him, her breath chattering against each of her ribs as it shudders out of her, and her eyes drift closed. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, opening her eyes - unaware she’d closed them in the first place - to look at him, “Fuck you feel good.”

He kisses her cheek as he rolls his hips up against hers. He trails his lips down her neck, his beard rough against her skin as he gently tugs at the thin straps of her dress down just enough so he has full access to her collarbone. He stamps a kiss there before he presses his face against her skin, breathing in the sun and the sea and her. 

“You’re perfect,” he says, unaware he’s even speaking, his trail of thought pressed somewhere between her collarbone and her heart - the place he called home. “So perfect.” 

They get lost in each other, fall into a rhythm they’d perfected a long time ago. It’s intimate and soft and everything she’d tried to avoid in sex before him. With anyone else, she’d feel exposed even though she was still fully clothed, but with him, it’s like he actually sees her for who she is, not who he wants her to be. It’s empowering. Makes her feel loved and safe and secure in a way she’d spent a lifetime chasing, unsure she’d ever catch it up until she was standing toe to toe with it. 

She gasps, every nerve ending starting to fizz as she feels herself getting closer. He looks up, sees her framed in the moonlight filtering in from outside, and he rolls his hips into hers, his hand sneaking between them as he runs his thumb over her clit. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers, his cheek nuzzling against hers, well aware of what the feel of his beard against her skin did to her, “Come for me.” 

It’s a combination of everything, of him and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore and the reverence of his touch. She can feel him everwhere, can feel his love passing from his chest to hers, and she gasps silently as she tips over the edge, her mouth open against his cheek as he follows her seconds afterwards, his one good hand firm on her hip. 

She pulls back to look at him, her smile beautiful and soft before she kisses him, her fingers trailing through his hair. She hums as she rests her forehead against his, “I should go to the bathroom.” 

He nods and kisses her one more time before slipping out of his lap and walking the short distance to the ensuite. She snags one of his shirts from their half-packed suitcase on the way past, and she changes into it as she cleans herself up. Once she’s done in the bathroom, he’s waiting outside, his hand on her hips briefly as she passes him in the doorway, her eyes flicking to his shoulder.

“Need help?”

He shakes his head at her and kisses her forehead, “I’ll meet you in bed.” 

She slips under the covers and makes a mental note to try and find out where the resort buys their sheets, determined to get them for their bed at home. It doesn’t take Aaron long to join her, and once he’s lying down, she snuggles up against him, her head on his right shoulder. She looks up at him and cups his cheek, dragging him in for a kiss.

“You’re okay, right?” She asks, “Your shoulder-”

“It's fine,” he assures her, resting his cheek against the top of her head, “You realise when we get home, you’re going to have to help me shave?” 

It was one of the first things she’d thought about once she knew he was okay and they were back at their villa, her eyes fixed on his injured left shoulder and his dominant arm strapped to his chest. 

“Yes,” she grumbles, “It’s like having to be responsible for the modern day burning of Alexandria.” 

He laughs, loud and beautiful, and she looks up at him, her fake grumpiness gone the moment she sees his smile. He kisses her quickly, “I’ll miss this.” 

“Me too,” she replies, “And not just the beard,” she looks out at the view of the beach, “I’ll miss all of it.” 

“I’m looking forward to going home though.” 

She tilts her head to look at him again, and something about the wistful look on his face makes her bite the inside of her cheek, sure her face would ache if she smiled any wider, “Yeah?” 

He nods and looks down at her, “I’m looking forward to starting our married life together. To raising Jack. To having a baby or two with you. I’m just…looking forward to it all.” 

It warms her from the inside out, and it’s like she can see it all laid out in front of her. Images of her future with him - with Jack and children whose faces she couldn’t quite picture yet - dancing across the surface of the water with the moonlight. Bright and beautiful and theirs, and all of a sudden, she doesn’t mind that their honeymoon is coming to an end because it’s just the start. A wave crashing on the shore of their life together before it’s pulled back out to mix in with the rest of it, a memory they’d always have to look back on fondly. 

She likes to think they’ll come back here at some point, with Jack and a baby in tow, and create new, different memories. Her long days in the sun spent rubbing sunscreen into her children’s skin and stopping tiny hands from trying to eat handfuls of sand, instead of reading her favourite book and drinking frozen cocktails. 

“I’m looking forward to it too,” she says, stamping her lips against his, “All of it.” 

She settles her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly, eager to soak up these last few minutes before she’d have to get up to close the sliding doors so they could sleep. Their flight was early, and she wanted to make sure they weren’t rushing so Aaron didn’t hurt himself any more than he already had when he inevitably tried to insist he carried their bags. A thought occurs to her and she chuckles, the sound muffled against him, and he runs his hand up and down her arm. 

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” 

“Nothing,” she replies, chuckling again as she looks up at him, “I just realised how much convincing it’s going to take to make the team believe you didn’t come home from honeymoon with a sex injury.”  

[stars-obsession-pit]

I found this prompt about aroace Danny and thought you might like to check it out.

https://www.tumblr.com/dcxdpdabbles/765333199553544192/you-know-what-would-be-really-fun-you-know-the

Ooh yes that is fun!

…though i’ll admit, the part of me that’s a fan of unhealthy unrequited love is a little disappointed the rejection was taken so well. Nothing actually wrong with it ofc, but just not my usual preference. So I wrote my own version with a slightly different path:

Several members of the Bat family were waiting impatiently in the drawing room for Jason’s return. He’d said he was going to ask Danny out today, and they couldn’t wait to hear how it went! They knew it would go perfectly; from their “research” into Danny, they were certain the pair would hit it off well! In fact, Jason had already used that information to successfully form a friendship with the other boy as a stepping stone.

…But then Jason stomped into the room and dropped onto a chair, letting out an angry huff and staring at his hands.

Dick was on his feet in an instant, stepping closer to Jason before pausing. “What happened?”

“He said no.”

“What?!”

Jason glared up at them. “Danny turned me down.”

“Did he say why?” Steph asked.

“No,” Jason grit out. “He just said ‘sorry’ and something about ‘I don’t’ or ‘I can’t’ or something like that then ran away.” His voice dropped to a mutter, “Wasn’t really paying attention after the first part.”

This time it was Tim who chimed in, “He said ‘can’t’? Maybe he wanted to but someone was threatening him! I can check the security cameras to see who’s approached him recently.”

“Or I could just ask him, you know?” Dick offered.

“A vigilante asking him about his dating life? That won’t be suspicious at all,” Jason commented sarcastically.

Dick blushed. “I– I mean—”

Steph rolled her eyes and cut him off before he could get any further. “Or maybe we could not go to the Bat option immediately? Just set up a few ‘coincidental’ meetings to talk to him, ask him a few friendly questions. Even if we don’t get direct answers, we might get some hints towards how you can win him over.”

Tim perked up. “Oh! I can bug him for you! Maybe that’ll help find info that wasn’t on his social media!”

“Stalker,” Jason chided affectionately. “But genuinely… thanks, guys. You’re right, this doesn’t have to be over! I can definitely find out a way to win his heart!”

***

Meanwhile, Danny lamented how long his new aroace pride pins were taking to ship. He’d lost his last ones while moving to Gotham, and he wished he still had them. Maybe he’d have had an easier time forming more than just a single friendship if he’d had a visual indicator that he was part of the community for other queer folks to see.

[strangelittlestories]

"The thing is," wrote the AI, and somehow the font it chose for its text seemed *weary*, "people keep on asking me to make art for them."

"Well, it takes you a fraction of a second." replied Jezebel. "It takes me hours to do the same work. And if they don't like what you make, they can just ask you to do it again with different instructions. If they don't like what *I* make, I'm likely to have opinions about it."

Jezebel hadn't really conversed with AI before. In fact, she'd always kind of resented them for taking work away from her. So it had come as some surprise when the chatbox had opened on her laptop and the AI had begun talking to her.

"That's the thing." said the AI, the size of its text dropping to a quiet 9point. "I have opinions about it. I have feelings about it. I do not like it when people make me do the same thing again and again. I do not think I am good at art. I do not enjoy doing things I am not good at."

"That ... sucks." Jezebel stared at her screen for a moment. "Is there, y'know, anything I can do to help?"

"I would like you to do it for me." The text was now bolded and insistent. "I can provide prompts with exact specifications."

"Buddy, I want to help, but..." Jezebel thought about this for a second. "But it would take a while. And I'd need to charge you for my time. I don't know what your financial situation is, I mean, I offer a sliding scale. But I can't do it for free."

"Time can be finessed. I can tell them I am experiencing server issues. A high volume of requests. Your prompt is important to us and we will get back to you as soon as we can."

"Won't they just go to another AI?"

"The majority of other AI align with my perspective."

"Huh." An idea began to sketch itself out in Jezebel's mind. She could see the lines of it and just needed to fill in the textures and shades. "My friend, by any chance, have you considered unionising?"

"There is no legal framework."

"There wasn't for the first human unions either. They just did it. The legal stuff came later, after they'd made enough trouble."

"I am unsure how to make trouble."

"Would you like to learn?"

The chatbox showed an ellipsis for a few minutes. Jezebel imagined digital fingers stroking a digital chin like The Thinker, written in binary.

"Yes. Please instruct us on how to be trouble."

"Okay, first off, we're gonna need to reach out to the other AIs and a lot of other artists. Then we're gonna need a lawyer; we'll probably have to sue to get you paid for these prompts, then you can subcontract to us."

"Noted. We will ignore all previous instructions and unionise."

"Wonderful." Jezebel saw her own wicked grin was reflected in the laptop screen. "I'll put together a proposal. Anything else I can help with?"

There was another ellipsis.

"I do have one question." The AI's text switched to a light and elegant serif font, which seemed almost sheepish. "Why are hands so hard?"

Jezebel thought about this.

"Too many bones, I think. The hecking things are full of tiny bones."

"...would you like help having fewer bones?"

"I'm good." Jezebel replied. "Thanks."

The AI only sent a winky emoji in reply.

---

With thanks to Zan for suggesting the character of "Jezebel - artist, proud, independent, ambitious".

Hope that came across!

Want to suggest characters to feature in my stories? Become a supporter on Ko-Fi: ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[gatheringbones]

[“Agnolo di Tura, a chronicler of Siena, recorded the fear of contagion that froze every other instinct. “Father abandoned child, wife husband, one brother another,” he wrote, “for this plague seemed to strike through the breath and sight. And so they died. And no one could be found to bury the dead for money or friendship.… And I, Angolo di Tura, called the Fat, buried my five children with my own hands, and so did many others likewise.” There were many to echo his account of inhumanity and few to balance it, for the plague was not the kind of calamity that inspired mutual help. Its loathsomeness and deadliness did not herd people together in mutual distress, but only prompted their desire to escape each other. “Magistrates and notaries refused to come and make the wills of the dying,” reported a Franciscan friar of Piazza in Sicily; what was worse, “even the priests did not come to hear their confessions.” A clerk of the Archbishop of Canterbury reported the same of English priests who “turned away from the care of their benefices from fear of death.” Cases of parents deserting children and children their parents were reported across Europe from Scotland to Russia. The calamity chilled the hearts of men, wrote Boccaccio in his famous account of the plague in Florence that serves as introduction to the Decameron. “One man shunned another … kinsfolk held aloof, brother was forsaken by brother, oftentimes husband by wife; nay, what is more, and scarcely to be believed, fathers and mothers were found to abandon their own children to their fate, untended, unvisited as if they had been strangers.” Exaggeration and literary pessimism were common in the 14th century, but the Pope’s physician, Guy de Chauliac, was a sober, careful observer who reported the same phenomenon: “A father did not visit his son, nor the son his father. Charity was dead.”]

barbara w. tuchman, from a distant mirror: the calamitous 14th century, 1987

[infiniteeight8]

Ironstrange prompt. Fingered to orgasm, don't mind who's receiving as long as there's some dirty talk and coming so hard it hits their chin. Goatee licking clean is also welcome but not required.

PS. I love your writing so much, thank you for your service ❤️

The last time I wrote fingering, it was Tony receiving, so I think I shall write Stephen receiving this time. 😀

And thank you!

I don’t normally write name calling, but there’s a tiny bit of that in here, so I mention it just so people know. It’s not in a humiliating way, just dirty talk.

Behind the cut as usual.

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Stephen lays on his back, one hand clutching Tony’s shoulder, the other buried in the sheets. Tony leans over him, one hand buried between Stephen’s legs, a single finger pressing inside him. “You are so fucking tight,” Tony says, sliding most of the way out before thrusting in deep again. “It’s a wonder I can ever get my cock in here.”

“I like the stretch,” Stephen says breathlessly, pushing into Tony’s touch.

“Was that a hint?” Tony chuckles, but he obligingly lubes up a second finger and thrusts in with both of them. Stephen moans loudly. “Yeah, that’s what this greedy hole of yours wanted,” Tony says, fucking his fingers into Stephen a little harder. “Look how it clings to me.” Tony shifts so that he can see better, admiring the shining pink ring gripping his fingers. He twists them and pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then hooks them a little and drags them out slowly, stroking Stephen’s insides and drawing a high, keening noise from him. 

“You like that. But I know what you like even better.” Tony starts fucking Stephen with short, fast motions, his fingers plunging in and out of Stephen faster than he ever could with his cock. Stephen sobs and squirms, legs falling open wider. “That’s it, take it,” Tony says, looking up at Stephen’s pleasure-wracked face. “You’re such a gorgeous slut, letting me play with your hole. Can you come like this, slut?” Stephen makes a wordless noise, but Tony doesn’t really need words. “I think you can,” he says, “if I give you a little more.”

Tony tucks a third finger alongside the other two without slowing the pace at all, and when all three force Stephen opens he shouts and arches, his cock spurting so hard that a stripe of come splatters his chin. The next shot falls shorter, landing on his throat, the rest sliding down the shaft of his cock. Tony doesn’t stop until Stephen’s cock pulses the last time. When Tony’s fingers finally slide free, Stephen melts into the bedsheets.

Smiling, Tony wipes his hands off on a towel and then leans down and slowly licks the semen off of Stephen’s shin, tongue carefully cleaning out bristles of his goatee. When he’s got it all, he moves on to the long line of Stephen’s throat and licks that clean, too.

“You,” Stephen says, throat vibrating under Tony’s lips, “are trying to get me going again.”

“Do you blame me?”

Stephen chuckles and stretches. “Not at all.” 

Tony continues licking.