#even if it fails over and over we have to keep trying

[thetarotyapper]

think i like you best when you're just with me and no one else...

how will your future partner/spouse express their possessiveness towards you? (MDNI!)

I II III

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(how to pick a card? observe the given options and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. select the card based on the number provided below and scroll down to read about the card you have chosen. remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)

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۶ৎ pile I ۶ৎ

something crazy just happened. before i even got to shuffling my cards, i don't know why but the wheel of fortune card came into my mind and i just pushed that thought away. right now, when i shuffled my cards the wheel of fortune came out and omg i literally am speechless. but anyways with that being said, let's get to your reading pile 1. don't want to keep you waiting, do we? ;)

rather than being possessive, your person is literally going to show you what you're missing out on lol. they're going to show you how they want a long-term commitment with you and how they want to spend the rest of their life with you. they're going to show you how you make them feel so complete and how you are their family. they're going to show all the things you're gonna get if you're going to be with them. that's how they're going to show their possessiveness towards you. they know they're irresistible. their aura says it all. and that's also one of the reasons why you fell for them in the first place. and oh boy, they'll take you to heaven. in um….ways🫢. you know what im talking about. they're going to make you theirs and they're literally going to take you everywhere with them. and it's not the kind of possessive where they curtail your freedom and they won't let you have the time of your life. no no, it's the type of energy where you're literally theirs and they are yours. it's a mutual understanding. they're going to be possessive over you by flaunting your beauty. and let me mention, they love doing freaky stuff where the chances of you guys being caught is very high. they just love it when other people look at you. but here's the twist, they also hate it when people look at you. well, looking at you is a different thing than looking at you with desire. you are only theirs. and they are only yours. if they catch anyone looking at you, then well…. they're going to show them that you belong to them and they belong to you. they might be into pda too. i see them building ways in which they can better themselves for you. they might be a little insecure. they might feel like you have many options, but what they fail to notice is that you have your eyes on them and only them. they're a sucker for you lol. as time progresses, they are going to fully submit themselves to you. as in like you'll have full control over them and they're going to do what you say. they might even have a mommy kink lmao🫣

they're going to be possessive by constantly checking up on you and being there for you. they'd love to build a family with you. they'll love it when you're happy, so they will have this habit of buying you gifts. they might also have a breeding kink or would like to see you carrying their kids. it's a way of them marking you as theirs. they might also like to try new positions with you. damn, your person freaky af😅

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۶ৎ pile II ۶ৎ

um…okay…phew…deep breaths. i don't know if i should start your reading with this statement because your person is FREAKY. um…well…what should i do🧍‍♀️

YOU KNOW WHAT? I'M JUST GONNA SAY IT.

YOUR PERSON IS GOING TO SHOW THEIR POSSESSIVENESS OVER YOU BY F*CKING YOUR BRAINS OUT.

THERE YOU GO. I SAID IT.

phew.

i didn't want to start the reading with this but damn your person is very direct😭

well, do i even need to delve into the entire reading at this point? like i literally just said it all. well…not all. but most of the part. because that's literally how your future partner/spouse is going to show their possessive side. but anyways, let's just cover the rest of your reading, yea?

okay, so your person is literally going to drive you crazy (in a good way, as mentioned above🤐). but apart from that…uhm stuff…they're going to show their possessive side by spending LOTS of money on you and they might also like it when you sit on their face. CHILL OUT PILE 2’s PERSON DAMN. they're going to love it when you take control and when you ride their face. they're going to show their possessive side by working hard for you and building the life you desire. they're also thirsty for you. OMG YOUR PERSON😭😭

im literally trying to make this as friendly as possible but your person is not letting me chill lmao. i can literally see them coming up from behind and hugging you while one of their hands rests on your hips posessively while the other…um… goes under your clothes and…well you know what im talking about. im also seeing that they'll make you sit on their lap a lot as it gives them a sense of power. your person LOVES grabbing your sensitive parts. they love how you just melt into their touch. i also see them kissing your neck from behind. and they might also do this in public when someone checks you out and while your person kisses you, they'll make intense eye contact with the person checking you out to show them that you are theirs.

i literally heard “you're mine”.

chill out pile 2’s future partner/spouse. your love ain't going nowhere 😨

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۶ৎ pile III ۶ৎ

im just gonna get to the point. you have this aura that is so addictive and people literally can't get enough of you. i see that you might be attracting A LOT of attention (and sometimes it's scary because babe you literally need a break) and many people would like to get close to you. your person is going to show their possessiveness over you by protecting you from all these people. and to be honest, it's not out of pure jealousy. they're scared that you attract a lot of attention because i see that a lot of people will try to exploit you. and hence, they want to keep you safe. they might also like the idea of going to a private area during a family gathering or a party and making out with you🏃‍♀️. they'll do this to remind you who you belong to 👀 because a lot of people will have their eyes on you and they might feel like you won't pay attention to them during these gatherings. they're very desperate for you lol. they're going to worship your body and i see that they'll love it when you have no clothes on. they just can't get enough of you. and one thing i gotta say is that your person knows how to treat a woman right. they're going to show you what you deserve and they're literally going to give you so much importance. they're not going to make you forget that you aren't theirs. you always occupy their mind and i see them getting aroused just at the thought of you. your gentle skin, your curves, your hair…literally everything about you is going to make them weak. i see them winning you over by doing and getting things you like. it's almost funny how all the piles have gotten this. y'all are going to be spoiled haha (as you should be!)

they're going to be controlling and dominating over you and they're actually going to get upset if anyone tries talking to you. i see them sulking. the thought of you talking to someone else itself makes them sad. they're desperate for you, love. you are their world.

but one thing i gotta say is that they might isolate you from meeting new people. it might be their insecurity or their jealousy or they simply might hate it when other people look at you, but they need to realise that you are your own person and you have your own life to live and that they can't just control you.

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hi loves!! i hope this reading finds you in good health and i hope you are doing well. take care of yourself and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3

(note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)

[bartonomy]

A LITTLE BIT OF SCANDAL WITH A PINCH OF DEFAMATION

PAIRING Sirius Black x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS someone has made it their personal mission to ridicule the eldest black sibling in the school newspaper’s anonymous Spotlight column and the entire school is entertained- except Sirius

WORD COUNT 1.6k

CONTENT WARNING none

library.

Sirius Black was not used to being the butt of the joke.

Sure, he and James pranked their fellow students on a near daily basis, but that was different. That was lighthearted fun. This? This was targeted character assassination.

He sat at the Gryffindor table, scowling at the latest edition of The Hogwarts Weekly, which had just been delivered alongside breakfast. The familiar bolded headline made his stomach twist with dread.

“Weekly Spotlight: Sirius Black’s Hair Routine- Does He Secretly Use Veela Shampoo?”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand through his obscenely perfect hair as James curiously peered over his shoulder.

“Oi, that’s a glowing review compared to last week,” James said, snatching a piece of toast. “At least they’re acknowledging the effort you put into looking devastatingly handsome.”

Sirius shot him a glare. “‘Effort’? You think I try to look like this? Mate, I was born like this."

James smirked. “Well, according to the article, you wake up two hours early just to what was it again?, ‘whisper sweet nothings to your reflection’?”

Sirius slammed the newspaper onto the table and huffed. “I do not whisper to my reflection.”

“Mate, I’ve seen you wink at yourself in the window.”

“That’s different,” Sirius muttered or rather pouted.

Across the hall, students were already whispering, chuckling at the latest installment of the rather brilliant writer's ongoing takedown of Sirius Black.

“This has gone too far,” Sirius grumbled. “I need to find out who’s behind this.”

James perked up. “Are you saying…” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “We have a mystery to solve?”

Sirius nodded, expression grave. “We’re going to catch this Quilly and when we do, I swear they’ll regret ever picking up a feather.”

James grinned. “Sirius, my dear friend, we are now game on.”

Sirius and James took their new roles as amateur detectives very seriously.

They started by interrogating their classmates.

“Did you write this?” Sirius demanded, waving the newspaper in the face of a startled Ravenclaw.

The boy blinked. “I- I don’t even read the Herald.”

James jotted something down in a small notebook. “Suspicious.”

Sirius nodded in agreement. “Very suspicious indeed.”

The Ravenclaw scurried away.

Next, they turned to analyzing past articles for clues. They sat in a corner of the common room, parchment and numerous past articles spread out before them. James tapped his quill against his chin. “Alright, let’s think, who would have enough access to the dumb things you do on a daily basis?”

Sirius frowned. “That’s the problem. I’m incredibly popular. People are always watching me.”

James snorted. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“Alright,” Sirius huffed. “Who works on the Weekly?”

“Dunno,” James admitted. “It’s all pretty hush hush. They don’t like revealing their sources.”

“Cowards.”

James scanned the common room, eyes landing on Remus, who was curled up in an armchair, nose deep in a book.

“Oi, Moony,” James called. “You’re a Prefect. You know things. Who writes for The Hogwarts Weekly?”

Remus didn’t even look up. “Confidential.”

Sirius groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Remus finally closed his book and sighed. “Look, if the Quiller keeps their writers anonymous, they have a reason for it. Besides, maybe if you stopped embarrassing yourself on a daily basis, they wouldn’t have so much material.”

James laughs at that. Sirius glared. “You’re useless.”

Remus smirked. “And yet, I sleep soundly at night.”

The following week, after a failed (lazy really) gathering of information, he slammed the latest issue of the newspaper onto the Gryffindor table, sending toast crumbs flying.

“This- this is an attack on my dignity!” he declared, glaring at the offending article.

James, who was in the middle of buttering his toast, looked up eyes wide. “What is it this time?”

Sirius scowled. “See for yourself”

James took the paper from him, eyes scanning the latest Spotlight column.

“Sirius Black: Smooth Talker or Walking Disaster?”

Once again, Hogwarts’ resident Casanova has graced the halls with his effortless charm- or so he thinks. Witnesses report that Black’s attempt to woo a Hufflepuff sixth year ended in catastrophe when he tripped over his own shoelaces and knocked over an entire suit of armor.

Eyewitness testimony claims Black tried to play it off, stating, ‘The armor was clearly in love with me. It fell at my feet.’

Sources remain skeptical. "

James barely suppressed a laugh. “I mean… it does sound like something you’d say.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not the point! Who is this menace? Who keeps writing these slanderous lies?”

Remus, who had been reading over James’ shoulder, snorted. “They’re not lies if they actually happened.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you did say the armor was in love with you.”

Sirius huffed. “That’s not- that’s beside the point!” He gestured wildly. “This mystery writer has been humiliating me for weeks! It's blasphemy!”

His first suspect was the rather scary friend of his.

“Marls,” Sirius said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Where were you last Tuesday at precisely 7:42 PM?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” James said dramatically, “that was the moment the Weekly was printed. And we think you’re the mysterious Quiller.”

Marlene blinked. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh, I wish I was them,” she wheezed, swiping away stray tears. “Whoever that is? Brilliant. But sorry to disappoint, Black. It’s not me.”

Sirius squinted. “Hmm. You do like writing…”

“I like writing about things that matter,” Marlene said dryly. “And you? Do not matter.”

Sirius gasped bewildered. James patted his shoulder. “Tough break, mate.”

The second suspect was Lily, much to James' dismay. They were walking towards the library, discussing a way to question the red head without being hexed first. A few third years were discussing the newest paper rather enthusiastically by the grand fountain in the hall, much to Sirius' annoyance.

“She’s clever, she hates you, and wants to get back at you by attacking me,” Sirius reasoned. “Sounds like our girl.”

James frowned. “Yeah, but she’d just tell me to my face that I’m an idiot.”

“…Good point.”

The next and last suspect was Mary.

“She’s always laughing like a Hippogriff whenever a new column drops,” Sirius muttered. “Maybe too much.”

They set up an ambush outside the Herbology classroom, waiting for Mary to slip up.

After an eternity (20 minutes) of lurking in the corridor, she finally came into view.

Sirius and James leaped out from behind a suit of armor.

“Confess, Macdonald!” Sirius yelled.

Mary screamed, punched James in the stomach, and stormed off.

“…Not her,” James wheezed.

After several more failed interrogations, the case was going cold.

“We need bait,” Sirius decided. James raised an eyebrow. “Bait?”

Sirius grinned. “We stage an event! Something so ridiculous that the mystery writer has to cover it. Then, we watch to see who’s taking notes.”

James rubbed his hands together. “On Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, Pads, you're brilliant .”

Thus, the Great Staircase Incident was born.

It involved Sirius pretending to fall dramatically down three flights of stairs (which bloody hurt), James pretending to rescue him, though his acting skills were not very convincing and Peter shouting rather pathetically, “Oh no! Sirius Black has tragically lost all coordination!”

The entire school gathered to watch.

James and Sirius carefully scanned the crowd. Who was watching too closely? Who looked too interested? Sirius’s eyes locked on a familiar face.

You.

You stood near the back, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on your lips. You weren’t laughing as loudly as the others, and there was something… calculating about your expression.

Sirius nudged James. “ Mate, I have a hunch.”

James followed his gaze. “You think it’s them?”

Sirius squinted. “I don’t know… but they're suspicious.”

James smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

You were finishing the next article in an empty classroom when the door slammed shut behind you.

You jumped, quill flying from your hand and the remaining ink splattered across the wooden floor.

Sirius Black stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like a mad alchemist who has just discovered a breakthrough that would put him on a chocolate frog.

“Got ya.”

Your heart pounded. “Pardon?”

He strolled toward you, eyes flicking to the parchment on your desk. The column draft written halfway done. You lunged for it- albeit a little too slow.

Sirius snatched the parchment, scanning the words. His grin widened.

“Well, well, well,” he mused. “Looks like the mystery’s solved.”

You swallowed hard. “…I have no idea what you are talking about, Black. Have the countless detentions with Filch mushed up your brain?”

Sirius tapped the parchment. “The ruse is up, Quilly, We both know that you were the one defaming me for, what, six months? Rather impressive, little feather.”

You crossed your arms. “So, what now? You're going to expose me? Hex me?”

"Oh yes, I will definitely prank you for that", he tilted his head. “Though for the second part... it depends.”

“…On?”

A slow smirk spread across his face. “On whether you let me help write the next one.” Your jaw dropped. “What?”

Sirius winked. “If I can’t beat you… I might as well join you.” And just like that, the biggest mystery at Hogwarts took an unexpected turn.

[heeluvv]

sunoo showing his members that he’s not just a subby boy .. 💭

lowkey didn’t know how i wanted to play this out but i did it this way and im not mad at it so i hope you like it bb

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐘 *ੈ𑁍༘⋆

pairing 〢bsf/close friend! kim sunoo x reader

genre 〢smut

warnings 〢pussy eating, unprotected sex, fingering, soft!dom sunoo, teasing, etc.

natty’s notes 〢mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the room buzzed with laughter, the warm glow of the living room lights casting a cozy atmosphere over your small gathering. the idea of going out had been quickly shut down by your friends, who whined about the hassle and convinced you to just stay in. you didn’t mind—it was nice having them over, sprawled across your couch and floor, snacking on whatever was in your kitchen while exchanging playful banter. the energy was lighthearted, filled with inside jokes and teasing remarks that never failed to keep the mood alive.

amidst the usual chatter, a certain conversation piqued your interest—who among you was the most dominant? it started as a joke, with everyone throwing names into the mix, ranking each other based on their supposed presence and personality. unsurprisingly, sunoo kept ending up at the bottom of the list, a fact that only fueled the amusement of the group.

“you guys really think i’m not dominant enough?” sunoo scoffed, crossing his arms as he scanned everyone with a sharp gaze, his brows lifting in challenge.

“you just seem more like a submissive, sunoo,” you said casually, your voice laced with amusement as the others quickly nodded in agreement.

a brief silence followed before he clicked his tongue, an unreadable smirk playing on his lips. “you guys have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered, shaking his head.

the laughter only grew louder.

“i mean, we aren’t lying, sunoo. every time y/n gives you even the slightest compliment, you get so flustered,” jake teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back against the couch. “only submissive like to be called good boy…”

his words sent a ripple of laughter through the group, their amusement only growing as sunoo’s expression shifted. but he wasn’t embarrassed, nor was he angry. no—he saw this as a challenge.

his posture straightened, and the playful glint in his eyes darkened into something more serious. “you want me to prove it to you all?” his voice was smooth, almost daring, his confidence oozing through the sudden change in demeanor.

the room fell into a brief silence, the shift in his energy palpable. your eyes widened at the sheer duality, the effortless way he transitioned from lighthearted banter to something almost intimidating. it sent an unexpected chill down your spine.

jungwon, breaking the silence, tilted his head curiously. “i mean… how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

he glanced at the others for backup, but instead of answering, they simply exchanged amused looks before turning their attention toward you.

your breath hitched. why were they looking at you?

it was no secret that you felt completely at ease around them. there was an unspoken comfort in their presence, a familiarity that blurred the lines of personal space. you had never been the type to overthink things—changing in front of them felt natural, effortless, something you never put much thought into. it wasn’t like you were trying to make a statement; it was just how things were.

when you were home alone, the idea of throwing on extra layers felt unnecessary. walking around in just an oversized shirt, barely caring whether you had pants on, was second nature. so when they showed up unannounced—something they did often—you never felt the need to scramble for modesty. they had seen you like this before, countless times, and it had never been an issue.

but there was something about those fleeting moments that felt different. you weren’t oblivious—you noticed the way their gazes lingered, the way conversations would momentarily stall when you stretched or adjusted your clothes absentmindedly. they never said anything, never crossed a boundary, yet there was an undeniable weight in the air whenever it happened.

you never initiated anything, and neither did they. it was a silent understanding, an unspoken game where the tension simmered just beneath the surface. yet, even when their eyes betrayed their thoughts, you simply carried on as you always did—pretending not to notice, even though you always did.

“what?”

the single word left your lips before you could stop it, your voice laced with confusion, yet there was something else lurking beneath it—curiosity. this had caught you completely off guard. they were actually trying to initiate something now, and all for the sake of proving a point.

but was that really all it was?

a part of you should have been skeptical, maybe even hesitant. yet, deep down, you didn’t mind. because as much as you were aware of their lingering stares—the way their eyes would subtly (or sometimes not so subtly) trace the shape of your body in moments like these—you were equally guilty. maybe you hadn’t realized it at first, or maybe you had and just pretended otherwise, but the truth was undeniable.

your own gaze had a habit of betraying you. the way your eyes fixated a little too long on their lips when they spoke, how your focus would drift to the veins on their hands as they flexed absentmindedly. and then there were the times they stayed over, disappearing into the bathroom only to reemerge, steam still clinging to their skin, towel slung dangerously low on their hips, droplets of water trailing down their bare torso.

you told yourself it was nothing, just fleeting glances, harmless observations. but they noticed. every single time.

you weren’t the only one watching.

“i think you know what, y/n…” sunoo’s voice was smooth, deliberate, as he leaned back against the couch. the confidence in his posture was undeniable—his legs spread wider, his hands resting lazily on his thighs, fingers drumming against the fabric as he studied you. his gaze held something unreadable, something daring. “but of course… only if you let me.”

your breath hitched, your mind racing with endless possibilities. was this a mistake? would this change everything between you all? would it create distance or pull you even closer? the weight of uncertainty pressed against your chest, but despite all the questions, there was one undeniable truth—you wanted to know.

it was reckless, maybe even dangerous, but you couldn’t help the way curiosity clawed at you, the way something deep inside you itched for the answer. was it wrong to entertain these thoughts? perhaps. but could you really fault yourself for being human?

and then there was sunoo himself. was he truly as submissive as everyone assumed? or was this his way of proving you all wrong?

your throat felt dry as you swallowed down the lingering hesitation, your heart hammering in anticipation.

“o-okay…” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

you felt the shift instantly, a change so abrupt it sent a shiver down your spine. sunoo’s entire demeanor had shifted, his usual playful, almost teasing nature now replaced by something much more assertive—something that left you momentarily stunned. his gaze, once filled with amusement, was now sharp, unwavering, laced with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing from him.

“come here.”

his voice was steady, almost commanding, as he patted his lap, the simple gesture sending a wave of anticipation through you.

your breath hitched, hesitating for only a second before your body moved on its own. your legs carried you forward, and before you knew it, you were settling onto his lap, straddling him with a mix of hesitation and something far more dangerous—curiosity.

his hands found your hips effortlessly, fingers resting firmly yet not forcefully, grounding you in place. the heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of your clothes, sending a subtle thrill through your body. he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pushing—just waiting, letting you feel the weight of the moment.

his eyes met yours, dark and unreadable, but his voice was softer this time. “you can always back out of this, y/n.”

it wasn’t a warning. it was a reassurance. a reminder that despite the shift, despite the unknown that lay ahead, you still held all the control.

“no, it’s fine…” you murmured, your voice steadier than you expected. your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt as you nodded, reaffirming your words. “i want to…”

those three words seemed to settle something deep within sunoo, dissolving whatever lingering hesitation he might have had. this wasn’t just about proving a point anymore—he wanted to know if you were truly comfortable with this, if you were letting him in willingly. and, if he was honest with himself, he wanted to do this in a way that wouldn’t just satisfy his need to prove something, but would also leave you wanting more.

his hands glided down slowly, palms warm as they traced the curve of your waist before settling against your thighs. his touch was firm but not demanding, the heat of his fingers seeping through the thin fabric, igniting something beneath your skin.

his dark eyes never left yours, a silent exchange passing between you both, more powerful than any words he could offer. he didn’t need to say anything—his gaze alone told you everything. a question, a reassurance, and something deeper, something unreadable but undeniably there.

one hand remained firm on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you hyperaware of his touch, while the other reached up, cradling the side of your face with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. he guided you down effortlessly, his thumb grazing your cheek as he closed the space between you, his lips finally meeting yours.

the kiss started slow—steady and controlled, as if he was savoring the moment, testing the waters. his lips moved against yours with purpose, the pressure just right, his warmth enveloping you in a way that sent your mind reeling.

never in your life did you think this would happen. the thought alone felt almost surreal, the realization that you were kissing one of your closest friends sending a spark of disbelief through you. but any hesitation, any second-guessing, melted away the moment he deepened the kiss.

his grip on your thigh tightened slightly as his lips moved with more intensity, more certainty, pulling you in as if he refused to let you second-guess this moment. the soft, controlled movements gave way to something deeper, something more urgent, as if he wanted to prove himself with each press of his lips against yours.

and you let him.

because despite the initial shock, despite the blur of emotions crashing over you, there was one undeniable truth—you wanted this just as much as he did.

his lips wandered downward, leaving a burning trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. each kiss was deliberate, his movements slow yet calculated, as if he wanted you to feel every second of it. his lips parted slightly, the warmth of his breath fanning against your skin before he latched on, sucking gently at first before his teeth grazed over the spot, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

your breath hitched, fingers tightening against his shoulders, but he didn’t falter—not once. instead, his hands moved with purpose, fingers brushing against the hem of your shirt before he gripped it firmly, wasting no time in tugging it over your head. the fabric barely had a chance to hit the floor before you felt the weight of their stares.

there you sat, bare before them all—only your red lace panties keeping you somewhat covered. the cool air kissed your exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body, the rush of vulnerability mixing with something far more intoxicating.

sunoo’s eyes darkened, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he took in the sight before him.

“fuck…” he muttered, his voice low, almost breathless.

the single word hung heavy in the air, thick with desire, with anticipation. and in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just about proving a point anymore.

your hands instinctively move to cover yourself, a sudden wave of shyness washing over you under the weight of their heated stares. the intensity in their eyes—dark, unreadable, filled with something primal—makes your skin prickle with awareness.

but sunoo is quick to act.

his fingers wrap around your wrists before you can fully shield yourself, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulls your hands away. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, filled with something that makes your breath hitch.

“keep them down.”

his voice is steady, commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

your fingers curl into the fabric of the couch, your pulse hammering in anticipation as his attention shifts downward. his eyes linger, drinking in the sight before him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if restraining himself.

his mouth finds you without hesitation, lips wrapping around one peak as a sharp gasp escapes you. the warmth of his tongue flicking over the sensitive skin sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting instantly to the sensation. he doesn’t hold back, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, his teeth grazing you ever so slightly before his tongue soothes over the spot.

a soft moan slips past your lips, your back arching slightly as your fingers dig into the couch, trying to ground yourself against the flood of sensation overtaking you.

he hums against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist.

he’s enjoying this—enjoying the way you react, the way your body responds so easily to him. and you? you’re completely at his mercy.

the room is thick with tension, the kind that settles deep in your bones, making every breath feel heavier. the others just sit there, too stunned to speak, their eyes locked onto you—onto the way sunoo’s mouth moves against your skin, claiming every inch of you with slow, deliberate sucks. the heat of his tongue flicking over each peak sends jolts of pleasure straight through your body, your back arching instinctively, seeking more.

the ache between your legs only grows, pulsing, desperate for relief. your hips move on their own, rolling forward, grinding against the growing bulge beneath you. the friction is intoxicating, making your breath hitch, a soft, needy moan escaping before you can stop it. the sensation is everything you’ve been craving, sending a sharp spark of pleasure right where you need it most.

but just as quickly as it comes, it’s taken away.

sunoo’s hands grip your waist, stilling your movements in an instant, his fingers digging in just enough to make his point. his lips leave your skin, glistening, his gaze meeting yours with a dangerous mix of control and amusement.

“you take what i give.”

his voice is low, firm, laced with authority that sends a shiver down your spine. his grip doesn’t loosen, his presence completely consuming, demanding your submission with nothing more than a look.

your breathing is uneven, your body still trembling from the denied pleasure, but the challenge in his tone makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

“please, sunoo…” you whimper, your voice barely above a breath, laced with desperation. your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body trembling as his fingertips lazily trace over the thin fabric covering your aching core.

he doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time, barely applying any pressure, just the softest, teasing flicks against your clothed clit. the sensation is maddening, sending tiny jolts of pleasure through you, but never enough to satisfy the throbbing need building inside you.

a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his lips curling into a smirk as he watches you squirm beneath his touch. “you sound so pretty begging for me, baby…” his voice is smooth, laced with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it—something dark, something possessive.

his words send a shiver down your spine, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs. you moan at the praise, eyes fluttering shut as the ache intensifies, your pussy clenching helplessly around nothing.

you need more—so much more—but sunoo just keeps up his agonizing pace, barely giving you what you want, dragging out every second, watching as your desperation grows.

“look at you,” he muses, his fingers pressing just a little harder, enough to make your breath hitch. “so needy, and i’ve barely even touched you.���

he moves before you can even process it. with effortless strength, he lifts you off his lap, his hands gripping your waist as he shifts positions. a startled gasp escapes you as he tosses you gently onto the couch, the plush cushions cushioning your fall.

your body barely has time to react before he’s kneeling between your legs, his presence dominating the space between you. his hands are steady, deliberate, as they hook into the waistband of your lace panties, dragging them down in one slow, tantalizing motion. the cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a shiver up your spine as your underwear is discarded somewhere onto the floor.

his breath hitches, a low, appreciative grunt escaping his lips as he takes in the sight of you—completely bare before him. a moment of silence hangs in the air, heavy and charged, before you hear the sharp intake of breath from the others.

“i’m gonna make you feel so good, baby…” his voice is a smooth promise, dripping with intent, his fingertips brushing along the inside of your thighs as he spreads them wider, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze.

his eyes darken as he drinks in the sight of you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he groans at the sheer view.

“and while i do that,” he continues, his tone firm, unwavering. his gaze flickers up to meet yours, filled with something dangerous, something commanding. “i want you to look at them.”

your breath stutters.

his words settle deep within you, igniting something raw, something forbidden. your eyes flicker toward the others, who are still watching, still mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them.

the weight of their gazes only makes the heat between your legs burn hotter.

sunoo starts slow, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, leaving a trail of delicate, teasing kisses. each press of his lips is unhurried, deliberate, like he’s savoring the taste of you before he even reaches his destination. the heat of his breath fans over your sensitive skin, making your muscles twitch in anticipation.

he inches up, closer and closer, until he’s face to face with your aching core. your slickness glistens under the dim light, coating your folds, an unspoken invitation that makes his breath hitch. his fingers move with purpose, spreading you open, exposing every delicate inch of you to his hungry gaze.

your body jolts at the sensation, a sharp gasp slipping past your lips. “s-sunoo…” you whimper, your voice trembling, thick with need.

but before you can say anything else, he’s on you.

his lips crash against your pussy with a fervor that makes your head spin, tongue immediately delving between your folds, collecting every bit of your arousal in his mouth. he groans at the taste, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you, making your back arch off the couch.

his tongue moves expertly, flicking and swirling, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deep, indulgent licks. he devours you like he’s been starving for this moment, his grip tightening on your thighs as he pulls you closer, burying himself deeper.

the sounds—the wet, sinful noises of his mouth working against you, the soft gasps and moans spilling from your lips—fill the room, adding to the thick, unbearable tension that already lingers.

your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting as soft, breathy moans spill from them. the sensation of his tongue working against you is almost overwhelming, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. your fingers tangle in the cushions beneath you, grasping for something—anything—to keep yourself grounded as he pleases you so effortlessly.

but just as you begin to sink into the bliss, a sharp sting blossoms across your thigh, the sudden smack making you jolt. a gasp rips from your throat, your eyes snapping open in shock as heat radiates from the spot where his hand just struck.

“what did i tell you?” sunoo’s voice is smooth, yet firm, holding an edge of authority that makes your stomach twist.

his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, his lips glistening with your slickness, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watches your reaction. his fingers trail over the place he just struck, soothing the warmth left behind, before giving your thigh another sharp squeeze.

“keep your eyes on them.”

his words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body responding instinctively, thighs trembling slightly beneath his grip. he waits, watching you expectantly, making sure you obey before diving back in, his tongue resuming its torturous, sinful pace.

you obey him without hesitation, your eyes barely able to stay open as pleasure crashes over you in waves. your expression is completely undone—lips parted, swollen from where you’ve been biting them, brows furrowed in pure, unfiltered bliss. every nerve in your body is on fire, every muscle tensed in anticipation of what’s coming next.

his mouth latches onto your clit with a sudden, intense suction that makes your back arch off the couch, a sharp moan ripping from your throat. the wet warmth of his tongue moves expertly, flicking and swirling before he sucks harshly again, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

just when you think you can’t take any more, his fingers press against your entrance, teasingly circling before slowly pushing inside. the stretch is delicious, his fingers sinking into you with ease, the slickness of your arousal making it effortless. he groans against you, the vibrations only adding to the unbearable pleasure as he starts to move—slow at first, testing, before curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that has your entire body trembling.

“fuck, s-sunoo..” your voice is broken, shaky, barely coherent as you clutch onto the couch for dear life.

he hums against your clit, clearly pleased with your reaction, his fingers picking up their pace, thrusting into you deeper, harder, his mouth never once relenting.

the coil in your stomach tightens dangerously, the pleasure building rapidly, threatening to consume you whole.

“sunoo—sunoo, please!” you cry out, your voice breaking between moans as his fingers continue their relentless pace, plunging into you with precision, each thrust leaving you breathless. the wet, sinful sounds of your arousal echo through the room, only adding to the intensity of the moment. your walls flutter around his fingers, clenching down instinctively as that familiar, burning heat coils deep in your stomach, warning you that you’re teetering on the edge.

“fuck, sunoo—i’m gonna cum! i—i can’t—” your words come out in desperate gasps, your entire body trembling as the pleasure builds unbearably.

but instead of giving in, he chuckles darkly against your skin, his breath hot as he murmurs, “aww, you wanna cum, baby?” his voice is smooth, teasing, completely unfazed by your desperation.

his fingers don’t slow—not even for a second. if anything, he moves even faster, driving them deeper, curling them just right until your legs are shaking around him. and then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, his thumb comes down on your swollen clit, pressing down before rubbing harsh, relentless circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. the sudden overstimulation makes your back arch off the couch, a sharp, broken moan ripping from your throat.

but just as your release is within reach, just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he suddenly tightens his grip on your thigh, voice dropping into a firm, commanding tone.

“you’re gonna hold it.”

your eyes widen in pure, helpless agony. “w-what?” your voice is a wrecked whimper, your body on fire, teetering dangerously on the brink of pleasure.

he smirks, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he watches you squirm, your desperation only fueling him more. “you heard me. you’re not cumming until i say so.”

your body betrays you, clenching around his fingers, desperate for relief, but he gives you none. instead, he continues his ruthless pace, dragging you further into the agonizing high without letting you fall over the edge.

“fuck—no, sunoo! i can’t—please!” you cry out, your voice breaking into a desperate sob as your body trembles uncontrollably beneath his touch. your hands clutch at the cushions, fingers curling into the fabric like a lifeline, your entire body writhing under the intensity of his movements. your legs shake violently, barely able to keep still as he continues his merciless assault, his fingers plunging in and out of you at a brutal pace, stretching you, filling you, driving you to the very edge of insanity.

your chest rises and falls in frantic breaths, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the sheer overstimulation. every muscle in your body is taut, coiled so tightly it feels like you might snap at any moment. the unbearable pleasure surges through you in waves, an inferno burning deep in your core, desperate for release. but he won’t let you.

“aww, poor baby…” sunoo coos, his voice laced with mock sympathy, though the amusement in his tone betrays his true intentions. his dark eyes glint with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, drinking in the sight of your helpless state. he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs, “i don’t care.”

his words send a sharp jolt of heat straight through you, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs despite the sweet torture he’s inflicting.

his fingers curl inside you again, hitting that perfect spot with unrelenting precision, his thumb still circling your clit in fast, ruthless strokes. your legs twitch, your moans turning into broken sobs as you shake beneath him, completely at his mercy.

he’s enjoying this—enjoying the way you fall apart in his hands, how utterly wrecked you are for him.

his movements halt abruptly, leaving you panting, teetering on the edge of a release he refuses to grant. before you can even catch your breath, he shifts you effortlessly, guiding your body to lay flat against the plush cushions of the couch. his touch is firm but careful, positioning you exactly how he wants—spread out, vulnerable, completely at his mercy.

his hands move with purpose, fingers reaching for the hem of his shirt. in one smooth motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing the toned expanse of his torso. his skin glows under the dim lighting, his prominent abs flexing slightly as he breathes. the sight alone sends another rush of heat pooling between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

but he isn’t done.

his fingers work their way down, unbuttoning his pants with agonizing slowness, as if savoring every second of your hungry gaze trailing over his body. the fabric slides down his hips, along with his boxers, pooling at his feet before he kicks them away carelessly.

and then he’s bare.

his cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with arousal. the sight alone makes your breath hitch, your mouth going dry as your thighs clench involuntarily. he watches your reaction, his lips curling into a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

“like what you see, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he strokes himself lazily, letting you take in every inch of him.

he moves over you with a predatory grace, his body hovering just inches above yours, the heat radiating from his skin making your breath hitch. his hands find your face, fingers cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that contrasts the hunger in his gaze. his thumb strokes your flushed skin before he leans down, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss.

his lips move against yours with raw intensity, swallowing your soft whimpers as his tongue teases its way into your mouth. the taste of him, warm and intoxicating, sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, your fingers instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer.

a low groan rumbles from his chest as he breaks the kiss, his breath fanning against your lips. without another word, his hand wraps around his cock, fisting it slowly, the slick head brushing against your soaked folds. the contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, a shaky gasp escaping as he drags himself along your slit, coating himself in your wetness.

“fuck…” he grunts, his voice low, strained, the friction making his hips jerk slightly. his cock slides against your clit with every slow stroke, the sensation making your thighs twitch as your body craves more.

he watches your face closely, drinking in every reaction, every flutter of your lashes, every soft gasp that falls from your lips. he’s teasing, taking his time, savoring the feeling of you beneath him, knowing damn well how much you need him to just give in.

before you can even process it, he pushes in—slowly, deliberately, letting you feel every inch as he stretches you open. the sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that has your breath hitching, your fingers curling into the couch beneath you. your walls clench instinctively around him, the tightness drawing a deep, guttural groan from his throat.

“shit…” he breathes out, his voice strained, laced with pure pleasure as he sinks deeper, his cock disappearing inch by inch inside you.

his arms move beneath yours, caging you in, his hands pressing firmly against the cushions just above your shoulders. his body is flush against yours, the warmth of his skin pressing into you, grounding you in the moment.

he dips his head down, his lips ghosting over your neck before pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin. each kiss is slow, almost tender, a stark contrast to the overwhelming fullness stretching you apart. his breath is hot against your pulse, his lips trailing up toward your jaw, as if whispering silent reassurances between each soft peck.

his hips still momentarily, letting you adjust, his thumbs stroking soothing circles against your skin. but the way his fingers tense against the couch, the way his breathing grows heavier, tells you he’s barely holding back.

his hips start to move, and though his initial thrusts are measured, controlled, it doesn’t last. the way your walls cling to him, squeezing him with every inch he sinks into you, has his restraint snapping almost instantly. his movements quickly become rougher, more urgent, each deep thrust slamming into you with a force that leaves you gasping for air.

the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with the heavy breaths and desperate moans that spill from your lips. the pleasure is overwhelming, each stroke hitting deep, sending shockwaves through your body. your legs react instinctively, wrapping tightly around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as your fingers claw at his back, nails digging into the firm muscles beneath your touch.

“sunoo!” you cry out, your voice breaking into a scream of pleasure as he angles his hips just right, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

his breath is ragged, hot against your ear as he groans, his grip on the cushions tightening as he pounds into you without mercy. “shit, baby… you’re so fucking tight…” his voice is thick with lust, raw and strained, as if he’s barely holding himself together.

his pace only quickens, his thrusts growing deeper, rougher, his body pressing you further into the couch as he loses himself in the way you feel around him. every roll of his hips sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins, building that tight coil in your stomach, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“look at you, taking my dick so well, baby…” sunoo groans, his voice thick with pleasure, eyes locked onto the sight of you beneath him. the way your body takes every relentless thrust, the way your walls squeeze him so perfectly—it has his head spinning. his hips don’t slow, not even for a second, driving into you with an unrelenting pace that has you seeing stars.

“fuuuckk—yes, sunoo!” you cry out, your body arching beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming, intoxicating. every thrust hits deeper, harder, sending waves of euphoria crashing through you, your fingers digging into his back in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

his lips curl into a cocky smirk as he watches you unravel, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. “love this dick already, baby?” he taunts, his breath hot against your lips, the teasing lilt in his voice only making the fire inside you burn hotter.

before you can even answer, his mouth crashes onto yours, stealing your breath, swallowing every moan, every whimper. his lips move with raw hunger, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as if he’s trying to consume you whole.

the way you taste—sweet, intoxicating—only fuels him more, makes him thrust into you even harder, his body completely consumed by the way you feel wrapped so tightly around him. he’s drowning in you, in this moment, in the way your bodies move together in perfect, reckless harmony.

he swears he’s never felt this high before—never felt anything like this. it’s addicting. and he never wants to stop.

“fuuuckk—sunoo, i c-can’t—i c-can’t…” your voice is a desperate, broken whimper, your entire body trembling beneath him. every thrust sends you spiraling further, the pleasure so overwhelming it’s almost unbearable. your nails dig into his back, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

sunoo groans at the sound of your voice, the way you’re falling apart completely for him. his hips snap forward with relentless force, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to that inevitable peak. he can feel it—the way your walls flutter around him, squeezing him tighter, your body begging for release.

“fuck, baby—wanna cum?” his voice is thick with desire, breathless as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “you wanna cum for me?”

your head tilts back, a sob of pleasure escaping your lips as your entire body quivers beneath him. you’re teetering on the edge, dangling between sweet bliss and unbearable tension, your mind clouded with nothing but him—his touch, his voice, the way he’s completely consuming you.

“p-please—please, fuck—please!” you beg, your voice wrecked, desperate, pleading for the release you so desperately need.

his fingers tighten their grip on your shoulders, his breath ragged against your skin as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, his own control beginning to fray. “cum for me, baby,” he growls, his voice dark, commanding. “let go.”

a loud, uncontrollable cry rips from your throat as the pleasure crashes over you in violent, overwhelming waves. your entire body tenses, then completely unravels, trembling beneath him as the intense release takes hold.

and then it happens.

the sharp, wet sound fills the air as your climax bursts forth, a powerful spray soaking both you and sunoo. the sudden gush makes your mind go blank, your vision blurring as your body convulses with the force of your orgasm.

gasps echo through the room—the others watching in stunned silence, eyes wide as they take in the sight of you, completely wrecked, completely undone.

sunoo freezes for a moment, his breath catching in his throat, before a deep, guttural moan tears from his lips. his jaw goes slack, his eyes darkening as he watches the way you squirt against him, your slickness dripping down his abs, coating his cock in a way that has his entire body trembling.

“fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice hoarse, filled with pure, raw hunger. the sensation of your release against him, the warmth, the wetness—it drives him wild, makes his hips jerk forward on instinct, as if chasing the feeling of you unraveling beneath him.

your legs shake violently, your hands grasping at anything—his shoulders, the cushions, his arms—as you sob out his name, your entire body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

“sunoo!” your voice is desperate, breathless, your head tilting back as you ride out the high, waves of pleasure still coursing through your veins.

and sunoo? he looks completely mesmerized—completely addicted to the sight of you falling apart just for him.

“fuck—i’m gonna cum, oh shit!” sunoo grunts, his voice rough, breathless, completely lost in the intensity of his release.

his movements grow erratic, hips stuttering as he pulls out at the last second, his hand immediately wrapping around his cock. his strokes are fast, desperate, chasing his high as his chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

a deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as he spills onto your stomach, thick ropes of cum painting your skin as his body jerks with each pulse. his grip on himself tightens, milking every last drop as his head tilts back, his mouth falling open in a silent moan, completely lost in the pleasure overtaking him.

“shit…” he exhales, voice raspy, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm.

his dark, hooded eyes trail down to the mess he’s made on you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he watches his release drip down your stomach, glistening against your flushed skin.

without hesitation, his fingers dip into the creamy warmth, gathering his cum onto his fingertips before bringing them to your lips.

“suck.”

his command is firm, unwavering, his gaze locked onto yours, waiting. his fingers press lightly against your bottom lip, smearing the mess against your soft skin, teasing you—daring you.

his breathing is still uneven, his body still humming with the remnants of pleasure, but the hunger in his eyes hasn’t faded. if anything, it’s only grown darker.

you comply without hesitation, parting your lips as his fingers slide past them, pressing against your tongue. the warm, salty taste of him coats your taste buds, and a soft, involuntary moan escapes your throat at the sensation. your tongue swirls around his fingers, sucking lightly, savoring the way he watches you—his gaze dark, filled with something unreadable, something possessive.

his breathing is still uneven, his chest rising and falling as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes. your lips wrap tighter around his fingers, your tongue pressing against the ridges of his knuckles before you slowly pull back, letting them slip from your mouth with a soft pop.

the room is thick with heat, the only sound filling the space being the heavy breathing between the both of you. your skin is damp with sweat, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and yet the weight of what just happened lingers in the air.

then, sunoo smirks, breaking the silence with a breathy chuckle.

“am i subby now?”

natty’s notes 〢hoped you liked it !!

[ssentimentals]

prompt no. 46 w jeonghan? 🥺 i just feel like it'd suit him soo muchh and i miss him so <3

hi sweets! ah yes, i miss him too :( thank you so much for requesting, hopefully you will like it! 💜

prompt: confessions during an argument

jeonghan tries to keep his voice at level but fails to do so the second he sees your bruised leg. 'would it kill you to be a bit sensible about your own life?' he asks, not hiding his annoyance.

you quirk your eyebrow at him, grimacing. 'would it kill you to be normal for two fucking seconds?' you bite back and grimace, when you try to stand up. 'shit-'

'stay put!' jeonghan rushes to your side, kneeling. he grabs your bag and pulls it over his shoulder before moving to your left, worriedly hovering your leg. he is so, so worried over you, he feels sick with it. 'sit fucking still, you need to-'

'my god, i just fell off the bike, stop acting like it's the end of the world,' you roll your eyes although this side of worried jeonghan makes you heart warm up. 'it hurts a little but nothing bad.'

jeonghan looks up and narrows his eyes at you. he points at the littany of bruises on your leg and arches his eyebrow: 'this is what you call 'nothing bad''?

the truth is, everything hurts. not just your leg, but your left side as well and arm too. last thing you need is for jeonghan to read you a lecture about how careless you were to go out in such weather. he looks like he's about to do exactly that though, so you quickly interrupt: 'listen, whatever it is - i don't want to hear it. why are you even here? to gloat that you were right?'

jeonghan's eye twitches. he looks like he's one second away from storming out and leaving you alone. you kind of expect this from him, but instead he turns to you with his back and grasps your legs firmly in his hands. 'i will carry you,' he says in a clipped tone that leaves no room for arguments. 'come on, i don't have whole day.'

'i am not going to climb on your back,' you say with finality in your tone. 'are you insane? why are you even here? i can go on my own-'

'oh for fuck's sake,' jeonghan mutters, turning back to you. 'do you have to be so difficult?'

you abrely resist the urge to smack him. 'no one is holding you here,' you mutter darkly. 'you're free to leave.'

'i can't,' jeonghan sighs, rubbing at his face. 'so would you stop-'

'why you can't?' you ask, getting angry. everything hurts and you want so badly to just lean on jeonghan and feel his warmth, but he's an idiot and you can't stand to look at him anymore. you just want to go home and cry it out. 'just fucking go-'

'how can i go?!' jeonghan shouts, startling you. you freeze and his hands squeeze your knees before he looks up at you. 'how can i go and leave you? i can't. leaving you here is like, like- it's easier to just tear my heart apart.'

your breath hitches. you're not sure if there are tears in your eyes from pain, tiredness or from his words. 'what?'

jeonghan's sighs heavily. 'it kills me how reckless you are,' he mutters. 'you always go where i can't follow, always try things which are foreign for me too, you don't take good care of yourself and you don't let me to do it too. i just want you safe and sound, is it really that much to ask for? why are you so, so-' he pauses and to your surprise, just drops his head on your lap. 'i can't with you,' he mumbles. 'how are we ever going to date if all you do is just put yourself in danger?'

he looks like a distraught kitten. he wraps his arms around your legs and it's a bit awkward but it still makes you smile. carefully, you start brushing his hair and he hums in delight. 'that's one hell of a confession,' you finally say, feeling like pain is not that horrible anymore. 'very dramatic. very much in your style.'

jeonghan huffs and raises his head, glaring at you. his glare softens when he catches rosy blush on your cheeks and your twinkling eyes. he stands up and helps you up too, making you lean on him heavily. 'is that a 'yes' or?' he asks, wrapping one arm around your waist to help your balance.

'i actually want a piggyback ride,' you announce, laughing when he rolls your eyes.

you think he won't do it, but jeonghan kneels and lets you climb on his back. it shouldn't make your heart flutter the way he easily carries you and how he hikes you up higher with zero hesitation. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and giggle, when he mutters something about princess treatment. 'it's a 'yes' by the way,' you whisper into his ear.

jeonghan huffs. 'it better fucking be, i'm not carrying random girls on my back just because they fell of their bikes.' he turns his head to you a little. 'i only carry my girl on my back because she fell off her bike.'

you blush and peck his nose cutely. you can't feel the pain at all, not when jeonghan is holding you like that, when his thumbs draw circles on your skin, when he keeps turning his head to kiss your arms. falling off the bike is not that bad, in the end.

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[stanart4clearskin]

cowboy!art donaldson x farmer's daughter!reader

the two of you have known each other practically since birth. your parents were close friends and the donaldson's would come over to your house for dinners once a week. even though you two were always around each other, as children you guys never talked. art hung out with your older brothers while you kept to yourself during these family dinners. it wasn't until your brothers settled down and moved out that you were forced to make conversation with art.

while the parents talked, you and art sat on the other end of the table quietly eating your dinners. neither of you were keen on being the one to start the conversation but art knew you were shy so he took it upon himself to break the silence.

"how's school?" he asks, trying to keep the nervous tremble out of his voice.

you snort to yourself quietly and that makes art's cheeks flush pink. "we go to the same school and have the same classes." you remind him.

he pushes some of his food around his plate before talking again. "i know... i just thought it would be polite to ask."

the slight dejection is his voice makes you feel bad for not just answering his question. paired with the way he's refusing to meet your eyes makes your skin go hot in shame. "sorry,” you mumble, "i was just teasing."

ever since that fateful conversation, the two of you became inseparable. you were glued to the hip all throughout middle and high school. when college came everything stayed pretty much the same. art worked on your parent's ranch instead of pursing an education and you went to a local community college.

everyday after your classes you would go out to the pastures and watch art as he took care of the new calves. you would talk about your school day while art worked and listened. sometimes when you didn't have anything to talk about, he would teach you how to bottle feed the calves.

during the weekends when art didn't have work and you finished your homework, the two of you would spend all day in town. the day started with breakfast at the local diner where you worked during high school. the food wasn't that good but art swears by their black coffee so it's just become part of your guys’ routine. after breakfast the two of you walk a few blocks down to the movie theater and watch whatever is showing. usually the movies are crappy low budget ones from the 80s but occasionally your theater will get a new release. after the movies you guys are typically too full off of breakfast/theater snacks so you head down to the local bowling alley. art has a competitive streak so he always tries his hardest to beat you—and he does every time without fail. sometimes you let art play for the both of you and you head to the arcade that’s attached the alley. while art is working up a sweat bowling you’re working up a sweat playing dance dance revolution against some 12 year olds. after all of your guys’s exercise you typically finish the night at the town’s only italian restaurant or you’ll go to grandma donaldson’s house if she’s cooking that night.

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧?!*

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Smut implications, sexual content, loud noises, mild profanity, humor, teasing, embarrassment.

Summary → During quarantine, you and Tom struggle to stay quiet during late-night activities, annoying Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine with noise.

The quarantine had been... eventful, to say the least. You and Tom had been stuck indoors for weeks, and let’s just say, you both found plenty of ways to keep busy.

It started off innocent—movie nights, baking fails, playing video games. But soon, all that built-up tension turned into something else entirely. Now, most nights ended with the two of you tangled up in the sheets, barely bothering to keep quiet.

There was just one problem.

Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine were also quarantined with you. And by now, they knew exactly what you two got up to every night.

------------

It was past midnight, and the house was quiet. Well, mostly quiet.

Tom hovered over you, his lips pressing against yours as he moved between your legs, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. The mattress creaked beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall in rhythm with Tom’s movements.

“Fuck—Tom—” you gasped, arching your back as he grinned down at you.

“Shh, darling,” he teased, his voice low and breathy. “Unless you want to give them an even better show.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the next moan that slipped from your lips. Tom groaned in response, his fingers gripping your hips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The heat between you intensified, the room filled with nothing but heavy breathing, moans, and the rhythmic squeak of the bed.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG.

A loud, irritated fist slammed against the wall from the other side.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CAN YOU TWO KEEP IT DOWN?! I’M TRYING TO SLEEP!” Harry’s voice rang out, muffled but very much pissed off.

You instantly froze, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth. Tom, on the other hand, didn’t stop. Not even for a second. If anything, he chuckled, dipping down to press a kiss to your jaw.

“Guess we woke them up again,” he whispered with a smirk.

You smacked his shoulder, whispering, “Tom, stop—”

“Why?” He hummed, his pace never faltering. “If we stop now, then they’ll know they won.”

“Oh my god, they already know!” You hissed, your face burning in embarrassment.

“HEY, I’M SERIOUS, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Harry’s voice came again, followed by another loud thud against the wall.

Tom just grinned. “Just ignore him, love.”

A second later, another voice joined in.

“Oh my god, again?! Bloody hell, it’s every single night! Do you two ever take a break?” That was Harrison.

Tuwaine groaned from down the hall. “I swear to God, if I hear one more moan, I’m sleeping in the car.”

You buried your face in Tom’s shoulder, mortified. “I hate you,” you muttered.

Tom only laughed, pressing another kiss to your lips. “No, you don’t.”

Another loud bang against the wall. “I MEAN IT, TOM. SHUT UP.”

Harrison snorted. “I give up. I’m putting my AirPods in.”

You exhaled in frustration, shoving at Tom’s chest. “Okay, okay, we should stop—”

Tom smirked, kissing you again. “Oh, we’re finishing this, darling. We’re just gonna have to be a little more quiet.”

Easier said than done.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[nelle-y]

A love story told through voicelines (Alhaitham ver.) II

C/W: alhaitham x gn!reader, not that slow of a burn, characters find the other annoying, reader is a teacher at the akademiya, heavily implied past intimacy (nsfw), not proofread

Note: does this count as smut?-

Part 1

—

(You) About Alhaitham: Heartdrops

Every time I hear his name, my heart drops.

It’s ridiculous, really. I should be over this—over him. But then he speaks, and I feel it again. That same pull, that same tension, like a string wound too tight. He steps too close, and my breath hitches before I can stop it. His touch lingers for just a second too long, and suddenly, I’m back there.

That night was supposed to mean nothing. A lapse in judgment, a mistake to forget. And yet, here we are—standing too close, pretending we don’t remember.

But I do. And so does he.

(Alhaitham) About you: Heartdrops

Emotions are irrational, transient things—disruptive, even. I’ve never had an issue keeping them at bay. But with them… it’s different.

There’s an odd satisfaction in watching them try—and fail—to conceal their reactions. The way their breath catches when I step too close, the way their gaze lingers despite their attempts to seem unaffected. It would be amusing, if it didn’t leave me with a peculiar sense of déjà vu.

After all, I remember that night just as well as they do.

(You) About Alhaitham: Contemplation

I should’ve known better than to think he’d stay gone forever. Alhaitham never does anything without reason, so why now? Why after all these years?

It’s not as if I haven’t enjoyed this—whatever this is—but I’m not naive. He’s deliberate with his words, his actions, the way he leans in just enough to make me wonder if it’s intentional. I should walk away before I get caught in whatever game he’s playing.

… And yet, every time he looks at me like that, I hesitate.

(Alhaitham) About you: Contemplation

Patterns exist in everything—human behavior is no exception. I’ve spent enough time studying them to recognize the subtleties: the way their fingers twitch when I brush too close, the way their eyes dart away a second too late. They try to act indifferent, yet their body betrays them.

So, for the sake of curiosity, I’ve decided to conduct an experiment. A hypothesis, if you will. If I push just a little further, lean just a little closer… how will they respond?

Purely for observation, of course. Nothing more.

(You) About Alhaitham: Excuses

He’s barely in his office. I was looking for him the other day, and his desk was practically dust! Honestly, it’s harder to catch him actually working than on a break.

Why was I looking for him? It’s nothing—I was just going to ask something. Let me know if you see him, okay?

(Alhaitham) About you: Excuses

So they’re looking for me? That’s unexpected. After all that talk of wanting me away from them. Though I wonder—was it truly work-related, or were they simply using that as an excuse?

Regardless, if they have something to ask, they know where to find me. And if not… well, I suppose I can make an exception and save them the trouble.

(You) Character story: An Instant

“I heard you wanted to see me,” said Alhaitham in his usual condescending tone. He rested against the doorway of your classroom, a smug grin contrasting his uninterested gaze.

“I wasn’t looking—and yet, here you are.” That may be a half-truth—you only looked in his office, and gave up right after—but he doesn’t have to know that. You just hope the traveler hasn’t tattled.

“Here I am.” he looked away, “The traveler told me you were looking, though.” Damn it. His feet took a few paces closer, now facing you as you leaned on your desk. “I find it pitiful having to tolerate your half-truths to save face.”

“You do? Stange. I thought you liked it, given how you come back to my lectures all the time, placing comeback after comeback. You do have the liberty to interlope someone else’s class, am I correct?”

“Truly.”

“So why choose my class to squander?” Your words were quick—almost interrogative—and his frigid demeanor nearly faltered at your attacks.

His silence was rare, but you caught it—the slight twitch of his brow, the way his lips parted as if considering his words more carefully than usual.

Then, he leaned in.

It was subtle at first, but suddenly, you were hyperaware of everything—the way the dim glow of the afternoon light cast shadows against his features, the way the air felt heavier between you, the way his gaze flickered to your lips for just a second too long.

It should have been nothing. A natural proximity in a confined space.

But then, images of that night drew clearly in your mind. How his lips pressed the crease of your own, every bit of skin rising from his touch. How his gaze burned something within you. How you fit so perfectly. Eyes locked with his, you let this feeling eat you alive, blurring what surrounded you and leaving the room with only you and him.

Your breath hitched.

Alhaitham’s sharp sight didn’t miss that. His smirk deepened, smug and knowing.

“Hm.” His voice was lower now, almost amused. “Interesting.”

You exhaled sharply, regaining your footing before your thoughts could spiral into something irredeemable. “Don’t act so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not.” He tilted his head, studying you like a problem he had yet to solve. “But I am curious.”

You remind yourself of who was in front of you; a man who was always two steps ahead. The man whose arrogance boiled holes into your bloodstream. The man whose said arrogance brought you life.

It was infuriating how he always managed to do this—how he could toe the line between challenge and something much more dangerous. You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your desk for stability. “If you’re done wasting my time, Alhaitham, you can leave.”

He didn’t move at first.

Then, as if entertained by your sudden shift, he exhaled a quiet chuckle and straightened.

“As you wish.”

And just like that, the moment passed, leaving only a lingering heat in its wake.

You were, very much, in trouble.

(Alhaitham) Character story: Unraveling Consequences

For once, the quick-witted scribe was at a loss for words.

He never expected his little experiment to feel so heated.

It was supposed to be a simple test—a controlled observation of their reactions, an analysis of what lay beneath their carefully guarded exterior. And yet, when their breath hitched, when their fingers curled just slightly against the desk, when the heat of that memory flickered so obviously in their gaze—

Something in him faltered.

That was not part of the hypothesis.

Alhaitham prided himself on his ability to maintain control, to remain unaffected by the distractions of sentimentality. Emotions were, at their core, disruptions—variables that compromised efficiency and clouded rational thought. But when he leaned in and saw them break—even if just for a second—

It felt like he had reached an answer he hadn’t meant to find.

He should leave it at that. He had his results, his confirmation. He had nothing more to gain from indulging this.

And yet…

His feet hesitated at the threshold.

His mind, ever calculating, considered a new problem:

If that was their reaction to mere proximity… what would happen if he pushed just a little further?

He exhaled, shaking his head.

Hah. Now they were becoming troublesome.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t entirely sure if he minded.

—

Note: PLEASE GOD LEAVE REQUESTS ON HOW I COULD CONTINUE THIS

[nothorses]

apologies if this is incoherent, i am pretty wine drunk rn- i saw you reblog that post with the quote about how "nonviolence only works if your enemy has a conscience, and the united states has none-" and i wholeheartedly i agree!

but afaik (and correct me if im wrong,) you are also staunchly against killing people as praxis, and against saying that our enemies "deserve to die-" which i also agree with.

my genuine question is: how do you reconcile those two ideas? i agree that nonviolent protests are highly ineffective and that our only way forward is through visible and disruptive resistance... but i also try to stop myself from saying things like "someone needs to just kill elon musk already" because... nobody deserves to die.

what lines do you draw irt this whole messy idea of violence and murder?

y'know, I don't think I really have reconciled those ideas, honestly. and the more I think about it, the more I think it's probably normal, and maybe even actively good, to hold these tensions and continue to try to reckon with them... without there necessarily needing to be one single, perfect answer in the end.

When I say nobody deserves to die, ever, I mean it. I also mean it when I say "the adjuster" did nothing wrong, and relish in his folk hero status. I don't think that's indicative of an inherent failing of my moral code or whatever so much as, like, the inherent complexity of reality. And I think it's important to keep asking questions about that tension, and talking about it, and being curious and open to new ideas and the increasingly complex ways in which these tensions manifest.

I think these are great questions, too! Honestly, I don't feel all that bad about joking with my friends over the murder/death of various "evil" pop and political figures. I also tend to avoid doing that here a lot of the time (though I don't always have that kind of discretion tbh). It's kind of a gut thing, personally, and if I examine that further I'm not sure if it's something I do because I know how my friends will interpret that but I'm afraid of being misunderstood by strangers, if I'm just afraid of appearing inconsistent, or if it's based in like, more calculated decisions around the responsibility of "having a platform".

I also think there's a distinction to be made between different kinds of violence. The state considers destruction of private property (esp. capital) to be a kind of violence, and frequently meets that "violence" with brutality and violence enacted upon human bodies and minds. I consider that later form of violence to be much more severe, and much more reprehensible. I do also think that seizing and destroying private property can be violence; I think it's violence when cops steal homeless people's signs and make "homeless quilts" out of them as trophies. So how are we defining violence? What kinds of violence do we accept- if any- and when? Why?

Honestly, I think cruelty is the thing I actually feel opposed to. I don't perceive smashing windows during protests to be "cruelty"; if anything, those acts come across to me like grief and love. But taking or breaking a less powerful person's things just because you can, just because hurting them makes you feel powerful and strong, is cruel. That feels like violence to me in a way the former just doesn't.

But that's super subjective and personal, tbh. I still believe murder isn't going to fix things. I absolutely believe a "violent revolution" is most likely to result in a genocide of the disabled and disenfranchised, then a power vaccuum most likely to be filled by whatever group is most well-positioned, holds the most hard power (weapons & physical strength), and is most eager to use it to seize power over others... and not in the kind of leftist utopia certain people think it will.

But do I think we can achieve progress through wholly nonviolent means? I mean, I guess that depends a lot on how we define "violence", but even then I'm not really sure.

I just keep thinking about this video:

idk.

Thank you for prompting me to think more deeply about it! I'm curious to hear yours & other folks' thoughts, too.

[harleychick91]

She’s My…Wife

Rated M

After calling Lena a villain, Kara gets a surprise visit from a future version of the CEO. This one asking for her help. Will future Lena’s plan work and allow her to keep her wife and her timeline? Or will all of that be erased?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63291655

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“Forgive me or not, that’s your choice. Just like it’s your choice to work with Lex. I’m done blaming myself for your bad decisions.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To tell you that, from now on, you’re accountable for your own actions. If you decide to forgive me, I will be there for you. But, if you continue to work with Lex, you go through with whatever it is the two of you are planning, I will do everything in my power to stop you. Just like I would every other villain.”

The scene continued to play out in my mind as I stared at the ceiling. I know I had to do it but the look of anguish in Lena’s eyes…I hate it. Feeling my phone vibrate, I sent it to voicemail when I saw it was from Alex. I turned off my com, knowing she’d try it next. I know they need me but I don’t have the capacity to deal with anyone right now. I feel like I just lost my….whatever is more than a best friend but not a girlfriend. Sighing, I rubbed my face. There’s no one I can talk to either.

I smelt the electricity in the air before I saw the crackle. Jolting upright, I prepared for whatever was about to come form the purple portal that appeared in my bedroom. That looks like the portal from Lex’s watch. Has he come here to kill me? I knew everything was a lie.

“I come in peace,” Lena said, exiting the portal. Her palms facing me. “I need your help and I have a bit of explaining to do.”

My brow creased. “How…”

“I’m not the Lena you just talked to. I’m from about a decade in the future. I need your help keeping that future intact,” she paused with that half grin that drove me mad. “Unless you don’t still want to marry me.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “M-Marry…y-you? W-We g-get married?” I stammered, blood draining from my face.

“Yes, Kara. We get married,” Lena chuckled. “However, something is happening to the timeline. In your future, I did go through this dramatic period and you did call me a villain but we made up after a very, very long x amount of months. it was torture on both of us. You gave me the tough love I needed, I threw a fit, worked with Lex, and failed. After that, I came to you and we worked through everything. But now, Lex has done something. He’s broken out of the prison he was sent to and I believe he’s helping his former self.”

Fucking Lex. He always has to get in the way. “What prison did we put him in?” Am I dreaming? This can’t be real. I know when I grieved my parents, I saw them for years but this is different from that.

“I can’t answer that,” Lena sighed. “I’m very limited on what I can and can’t tell you.”

“Yeah, step on a butterfly and all that,” I shrugged. “But how…”

“You want to know if you can trust me. Know that I am who I say that I am?” I nodded. “May I?” Lena reached for my hand. Taking it, she placed my palm over her heart. “Even now, you’ve memorized my heartbeat. You heard it in multiple timelines by now. They’re all the same minus Matello Lena. In every single timeline, we need each other. People compare us to Clark and Lois but we’re so much more than that.”

Searching loving green eyes, my heart ached. “You used to look at me like this before…I should have told you years ago. I am so sorry.”

“I know, my love.” A tear ran down my cheek. “Sorry,” Lena murmured. “It's a habit now. I only call you ‘Kara Zor-El Danvers Luthor’ when you’ve mildly irritated me or you’re in trouble for something. It’s always said with love, of course.”

Finish reading on AO3! Check out my ficlet series and Ember in the Abyss while you’re at it!

[fickle-tiction]

“So, what’s this I hear about you being deathly ticklish?”

Years of training was the only thing that kept Bruce from freezing in his tracks at the voice suddenly inches from his ear. He continued tightening the small screw on his grappling hook, ignoring the sudden pounding of his heart.

"Deathly is a stretch." Maybe if he didn't turn around Diana would get bored and walk away.

"But the 'ticklish' part is not?" Naturally, Diana reached over and goosed Bruce's side when she said 'ticklish'.

Despite the fact that he was expecting the touch, Bruce still flinched away from the nimble fingers gently pinching in just the right spot to make him squirm. He sighed, knowing she wouldn't drop this any time soon. "Who have you been talking to?" He asked, setting his tools down and turning so he was face-to-face with his assailant.

Bruce never failed to surprise Diana. She was expecting him to lie, or threaten to kill Clark. She did not think he would accept defeat so easily. "Is this common knowledge?" Diana asked, wearing a sly smile. "Why am I just now finding out about it?"

"It's on a need-to-know basis." Bruce was too experienced to dart his eyes around in his search for escape. He already knew Diana would be able to read his next move before he even decided on one. Now his only goal was to mitigate the damage she was sure to inflict upon his ego.

"And Clark needs to know, but I do not?" Uh oh. That was a dangerous tone. Bruce did not like being on the receiving end of that one bit.

"Clark doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself."

"Unfortunately for you, we share that trait."

Bruce was too dignified to try to run away, but that didn't mean he had to just lay down and take it. When Diana reached out a hand, presumably to latch onto his sides, Bruce seized her by the wrist. He was in the process of throwing her over his shoulder when Diana's free hand found it's way to his topmost ribs.

Bruce bit his tongue in his haste to stifle his laughter, but he could not hide the full body flinch from Diana's keen gaze.

"So it's true!" She laughed with delight. She easily pulled her hand free and crowded Bruce against his workbench, hands roaming over his torso in search of a better spot that might draw his laughter out.

"Why--are you both--so--fascinated by this?" Bruce was trying to shield as much of his body from Diana's wandering fingers as he could. Unfortunately for him, Diana was faster. When he drew his arms in to protect his ribs, she tickled at his stomach. When he pushed her hand away to shield his stomach, she wiggled quick fingers under his chin. When he shrieked and slammed his chin down towards his chest...well, her eyes lit up and she chased after that sound.

"This is why." Diana laughed as she gently tickled at the thin skin of Bruce's neck. His shoulders had come up to try and protect his neck, and he had both hands latched around Diana's wrists. Diana didn't seem to mind, ignoring his attempts to stop her and testing to see if his ears were as bad as his neck.

They were worse.

"Diana!" Bruce gasped, jerking away from the nails gently scratching the shell of both ears. The laughter she had been so desperate to hear finally came out, and Bruce was helpless to stop the onslaught of giggles pouring out of him.

"Clark did not mention this." Batman was not only giggling, but blushing. His cheeks had taken on a soft pink glow, and the hapless smile stretched across his face seemed to take 10 years off him.

"Dihihihihi come o-hahaha-on!"

Diana decided to take pity on him, and move on. She quickly tickled down his neck, across his collar bones, down his ribs, ending at his stomach.

"Jehehehe-Jesus Chri-hihihihihi-st!" Bruce cackled, practically folding in two at the onslaught of sensations.

"Clark only spoke of your stomach being sensitive." Diana was deftly avoiding Bruce's hands once again. "We will have to compare notes later."

Bruce shook his head, not confident that he could form any words between his near-constant laughter. He couldn't slip past Diana, though not for lack of trying, and he couldn't catch her hands long enough to gather his sanity. There was only one other tactic he could think of. Bruce darted his own hands out, latched onto Diana's sides, and squeezed as fast as he could.

"Bruce!" Diana gasped, hands finally leaving his body as she drew her arms inwards to protect her sides.

"Does Clark know about this?" Bruce was panting as he caught his breath, but he did not slow down his attack. When Diana brought her arms in to block her sides, Bruce went for her stomach. When she laughed and gently pushed him away, his hands darted up to her neck. When that didn't get a response beyond her pushing his hands away, Bruce seized his opportunity and buried his hands into her armpits, fingers wiggling furiously.

"Ohohohoh my!" Diana laughed, jerking away from Bruce to try and protect herself. Bruce followed after her, using her distraction and his bulk to his advantage and wrapping Diana in a bear-hug from behind.

"Not so fast, Princess." Bruce had his left arm wrapped around Diana's waist, and was squeezing her hip. His right arm was stretched across her torso, and his hand was buried in her left armpit.

"You--are--terrible!" Diana laughed, hands loosely wrapped around Bruce's wrists as she let her laughter flow freely. It was not lost on him that she was allowing him to get his so-called revenge.

"You started it!" Bruce pointed out, walking his left hand up Diana's side, gently digging into her ribs at random.

"Actually," A voice said in Bruce's ear, causing him to let go of Diana and whirl around, a batarang appearing in his hand from seemingly thin air. "I did." Clark smirked, unphased as the sharp blade was held to his throat.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Bruce grouched, the batarang disappearing just as fast as it had appeared.

"Clark, you must see this." Was all the warning Bruce got before those damn nails were back to dancing across the shells of his ears.

"Son of a bihihihihihihitch!" The laughter was once again pouring freely from Bruce. He knocked Diana's hands away and clamped his hands over his ears to keep them safe. "I thought that was going to be our little secret?" He had to turn to say this to Diana, and that's when he realized just how close the two of them were standing. One look at their faces, and he knew it was not an accident that they were crowding him between them. "....now wait a minute."

"I call his stomach." Diana's snaked around him as she drew his back against her chest.

"Clark, if we work together we can take her down." Clark looked like he might be considering it, but Bruce couldn't be sure because Diana's fingers were suddenly wriggling into his armpits as soon as he finished speaking.

"Tempting, but I've never seen you laugh before." Diana eased up, not wanting to overwhelm Bruce. Tickling him would not be any fun if it was overstimulating. "I call his neck." If Diana's smile had been scary, Clark's was downright terrifying.

"Di, we can definitely take him down together." Bruce's eyes stayed fixed on Clark's hands, and when he reached out for him Bruce did his best to flatten himself against Diana to get as far away as he could.

"Oh, so you're ticklish and a traitor." Clark didn't seem at all bothered by the hands gripping his wrists. "That calls for drastic measures."

"I hate both of you." Was the last coherent thing Bruce said for quite a while. It turns out deathly ticklish was a fitting description after all.

[yearofthesnape]

Meta: Hogwarts Ghosts as Anti-House Symbols (feat. the Bloody Baron vs. Severus Snape)

I saw a post which argued, in part, that Ravenclaw's ghost is a poor example of a good Ravenclaw. This made me consider whether other Hogwarts houses have ghosts that make them look better, and I realized it's the opposite — the House ghosts work as warnings for what each House could become. Snape's contrast with the Bloody Baron especially shows that Snape has triumphed above the doomed narrative that the ghosts represent.

(TW: mention of suicide.)

Gryffindor: Sir Nicholas

As we know from the Sorting Hat's song in Book 1, the Gryffindor ideal is to be "brave at heart," full of "daring, nerve, and chivalry." Sir Nicholas, however, is... not that. We see him trying to get Harry, Ron, and Hermione to solve his problems with the Headless Hunt for him in CoS's Deathday Party chapter by vouching that he is "very frightening and impressive," essentially allowing him to hide behind false praise from people who are of less power in the ghostly world (since presumably it is the living who are being frightened by ghosts). This is the very opposite of chivalry. As for bravery, Sir Nicholas admits in OotP, "I was afraid of death," indeed unusually so, because he became a ghost to avoid it and "very few wizards choose that path" (ch. 38). Sir Nick, then, is not a paragon of Gryffindor excellence.

Hufflepuff: The Fat Friar

Hufflepuffs are supposed to be "just and loyal," "patient," and "true and unafraid of toil," according to the Sorting Hat. The first glimpse we see of the Fat Friar (his argument with Sir Nick in Book 1 over whether Peeves can attend the feast) seems to show his patience with Peeves, but it in fact shows his unwillingness to be just. Peeves has proven himself consistently to be disruptive to social gatherings, and the Fat Friar has mistaken forgiving him with allowing him to continue unchecked. It is harder to draw conclusions on the other Hufflepuff traits for the Friar, given his limited presence in the books, but the description of the Fat Friar recalls Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood legends. While Friar Tuck was known for robbing the rich to give to the poor, he was also known for consistently using the money from the rich to indulge himself, thus benefiting from the perceived spiritual authority of a monk's vow of poverty without going through the hard work of keeping that vow. This is hardly being loyal or true to his word, nor being unafraid of toil. The Fat Friar, like Sir Nick, has not shown the best of his House.

Ravenclaw: The Grey Lady/Helena Ravenclaw

The Sorting Hat song says that Ravenclaws are "wise," with "a ready mind" and "wit and learning." While there is not much information on Helena Ravenclaw, we know that she told Tom Riddle where the diadem was because he flattered her (hardly wise behavior) and then concealed that she had done so until the last possible moment (even less wise). She also tells Harry her true identity without initially meaning to do so, which is not generally an indication of a ready mind.

Slytherin: The Bloody Baron

The Slytherin ideal as expressed in the Sorting Hat song, as I've discussed in this meta, hinges on friendship. By stabbing his desired lover, the Baron fails the friendship test. He also fails the more typical tests of Slytherin "cunning" and "achieving [one's] ends," as there is nothing cunning about getting carried away by anger, doing something you don't intend to do (rather than coolly "using any means," or, in other words, doing what you do intend to do), and then failing to achieve anything resembling your goal (in this case, getting the girl).

Case Study: Severus Snape and the Bloody Baron

It's interesting to see what happens when we contrast the Baron with Severus Snape, a Slytherin as he ought to be. (As for why Snape can be used as an example of the Slytherin ideal, indeed the best such example in the series — one reason among many is that Harry, in the epilogue, uses Snape as his single, sufficient example that Slytherins can be truly good.)

At first glance, the Baron and Snape seem incredibly similar. They are both described as being "gaunt" (the Baron in Book 1, Snape in CoS) and silent (Snape says "Silence!" quite frequently). They perform roles of keeping difficult beings in line; the Baron is "the only one who can control" Peeves (PS/SS ch. 7), and Snape "had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort" (PS/SS ch. 8) and has made himself known to Ron Weasley, likely via Fred and George, as someone not to be crossed. In HBP, we learn the Baron haunts the Astronomy Tower, only to see Snape kill Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower in that very book.

In death, at first it seems the similarities have come to a climax. The Baron's "blank staring eyes" (PS/SS ch. 7) have always sounded like Snape's "cold and empty" ones a chapter later, but at Snape's death his eyes explicitly get the descriptor "blank" as well. Snape's death scene leaves him (surely) covered in blood like the Baron, with "silvery blue" memories coming from him as well, like the Baron's silver blood, and the visual seems complete. Yet the language surrounding Snape's death dwells on the lack of blood: "Snape looked as though there was no blood left in him." Although there is surely blood all over him, the book does not mention this, though it does not shy away from doing so for the Baron. This is our first indicator that all is not as it seems.

When we arrive at the Prince's Tale, we already know the Baron's backstory. (Incidentally, the titles are another connector and differentiator between the characters; it's better to be a Prince than a Baron.) The Baron is the sort of person we might easily assume Snape to be, on a cursory read of the Prince's Tale... but they are actually very different. Let's break down the Grey Lady's narration in DH ch. 31, because the parallels and contrasts are remarkably complex:

The Baron "had long loved" a woman who "spurned his advances." (Snape certainly loved Lily for most of his life, but she rejected his apology — there is no indication of his ever making "advances" that Lily spurned.)

The Baron "would not rest" until he had found Helena to pass along Rowena's pleas for reconciliation. (Snape shows similar determination, but that determination is to find parental figure Dumbledore for Lily's benefit, not the other way around. Finding Dumbledore, he has cause to think, will result in his death, not in any romantic benefit.)

The Baron is hot-tempered (this is true of Snape).

The Baron, however, "became violent" (Snape is remarkably nonviolent, given how often his situation warrants the use of force).

The Baron is "furious at [Helena's] refusal." (No indication at all of this from Snape; he seems to take Lily's refusal without anger towards her.)

The Baron is also "jealous of [Helena's] freedom." (Snape is happy Lily has power as a witch. He does have an instance of saying "I won't let you —" but in context, where they're talking about how Lily's got the wrong idea about James, it seems probable that he would have said "I won't let you be taken in." When Lily gets angry over this phrasing, he rephrases "at once": "I didn't mean — I just don't want to see you made a fool of —" and then he points out that James, who fancies Lily, is not what everyone thinks he is. All this supports Lily's freedom, as people being deceived are not free. Snape is described as having "bitterness" here, but it's towards James, not Lily.)

The Baron then stabs Helena in a rush of anger. (Snape unintentionally and indirectly brought about Lily's death by relaying a prophecy which he did not believe had anything to do with her or her family. The two situations are clearly different.)

"When he saw what he had done, he was overcome with remorse." (True of both of them.)

The Baron then kills himself. (We know Snape was also suicidal — "I wish I were dead" — but he chooses life in the face of this; in that moment, he sees living will let him help right his wrongs, protect Lily's son, and destroy Voldemort. By the time he dies, Snape has regained a sense of purpose, and he is struggling vainly with the enchanted cage because he wants to live.)

Lastly, the final thing we learn of the Bloody Baron specifically is that "he wears his chains as an act of penitence" — but these chains are an obvious bit of virtue-signaling, as they don't pose any real restriction on the Baron's activities. (Snape's constraints as a spy, on the other hand, chain him far more wholly.)

Perhaps it is partly due to these reasons that we do not see Snape in any form of preservation-after-death, whether a portrait or a Resurrection Stone shade. He is entirely distinct from the ghosts; he has succeeded where they have not, gone on where they have failed to tread, and he needs no moderating version of himself to show what might have been. His legacy is a living child's middle name — a memory and inspiration, but not a command to repeat him over again, for there is no need to do so.

[whispersleo]

Génesis 4:9-10 // Art by whispersleo

Read below or in AO3

"Where is your brother?"

Illario tried not to flinch. He had never seen his grandmother like this before—her face deeply lined, her eyes wide and frantic. The grip she had on his arm hurt, her fingers trembling even beneath her gloves. She was shaking all over, yet unlike Illario, she did not cry. There was only pure, undiluted horror in her gaze.

He and Lucanis had been playing when their parents started whispering. At first, they ignored it—grown-up matters were not for them—but Illario began to notice the shift. Their voices grew strained, words less certain, doubt creeping into their expressions. Their hands drifted closer to their weapons, normally tucked away beneath their coats, far from the children's reach.

Then, suddenly, his mother yanked him aside. He didn’t protest—more surprised than anything. She never did that. She pulled him toward the large wardrobe in his parents’ bedroom. "¿Mami? What’s happening?" he whispered as she opened the door and ushered him inside.

She didn’t answer right away.

Illario caught a glimpse of his father’s cloak before his mother turned and left. Moments later, Lucanis’s voice rang out, grumbling irritably about their interrupted game. When they pushed him into the wardrobe too, Illario instinctively reached out, pulling him close. Lucanis was small—young in age and stature—while Illario, growing fast, had developed the habit of carrying him often, sometimes for fun, sometimes simply because his cousin wanted him to.

"Illario." His mother’s voice was low but terribly firm, commanding his full attention. "Keep your brother safe. Do not leave this spot until your abuela comes. No matter what. Swear to me that no one will see or hear you." "I swear, Mami," he answered solemnly.

His mother’s expression softened. She leaned in, kissed his head, and brushed her fingers through Lucanis’s hair before stepping back and closing the wardrobe doors.

Lucanis let out a quiet, uncertain sound in the dark. Illario tightened his hold. "Shh, it’s okay," he murmured, running a soothing hand down his cousin’s back. "You heard my mom. We have to stay quiet." "But—" Lucanis’s voice faded as a loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by shouting.

Both boys shrank back, pressing themselves into the space behind stacked linens. Illario peered through the sliver of light filtering through the wardrobe doors, but the room beyond remained empty. The fighting downstairs didn’t stop. The walls trembled, and he could vividly imagine furniture smashing and glass shattering.

A damp warmth touched his hand. Lucanis was crying silently.

Illario was in much the same state—or perhaps worse—because the sounds coming from his family were growing less human, more monstrous. But he pressed his forehead to Lucanis’s and repeated his mother’s words in his head. Protect his brother. That was his role. He could not fail now.

Suddenly, silence. The only sound was furniture scraping across the floor—slow, deliberate. Searching .

Illario’s heart clenched painfully. Moving with excruciating care, he covered Lucanis’s mouth and clamped his own shut so tightly his jaw ached.

Maybe minutes passed. Maybe hours. Then—footsteps. They entered the room. The door creaked open, followed by unintelligible whispers. Illario barely heard them over the violent pounding of his heart. He felt dizzy, trying to think. Could he protect Lucanis? If he revealed himself, would that be enough? Would they be satisfied with killing him and leave the other child undiscovered?

The floor creaked a step away from the wardrobe.

Slowly, Illario lifted a sheet and draped it over them both, his hand never leaving Lucanis’s mouth.

The wardrobe doors swung open. Light spilled in, and Illario could sense a figure looming over them. He held his breath. Three agonizing seconds passed before the figure pulled away, closing the doors. The footsteps receded. Silence swallowed the house.

Illario remained frozen, rigid to the point of pain. He uncovered himself first, then Lucanis, who gasped for breath but never once complained.

They huddled together in the darkness once more. Time blurred. Illario pressed his forehead to Lucanis’s again, both of them drenched in sweat and silent tears.

"Stay here," he whispered, barely audible. "Don’t leave me, Illario," Lucanis pleaded, voice broken and raw. "I have to see what happened. But you stay put. Don’t come out until abuelita arrives."

His legs shook as he stood. He opened the wardrobe door slowly, peeking at Lucanis’s wide, tear-filled eyes before slipping out.

The hallway was empty. Near the top of the stairs, a dagger was embedded in the floorboards. Illario moved toward it, lungs tightening as his gaze fell upon his uncle’s body sprawled at the base of the staircase, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood.

He stepped closer, staring at the blade buried in his back. Three more knives jutted from his ribs.

Illario followed the trail to the kitchen. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his scream.

His mother.

Her dress was the only thing that made her recognizable. Someone had mutilated her face so thoroughly that it was nothing but a grotesque smear against the wall behind her. Senseless. Unrecognizable.

His first instinct was to run to her. He stopped himself.

His father lay just feet away, alongside Lucanis’s mother—both in a state as brutal as his uncle’s.

"Illario!"

Caterina’s voice yanked him from his trance. More tears spilled down his cheeks as his grandmother grabbed him, shaking him. "Where is Lucanis?"

"U-upstairs," he finally croaked. A sob tore from him. "In the wardrobe. I kept him safe. He’s okay."

Relief barely flickered across Caterina’s face before she let go, hurrying upstairs. A moment later, Illario heard her gasp, followed by Lucanis’s unmistakable cries.

She descended carefully, carrying the boy in her arms. Lucanis buried his face against her neck, sobbing. She had told him not to look.

Caterina turned to Illario again. But her gaze didn’t quite meet his. It was distant, as if she was looking past him—at his head, his shoulders, anything but his face.

Illario reached out, almost grasping her dress, but something about her demeanor told him not to.

"You did well keeping him safe," she murmured, nodding toward the door. "Come. We’re leaving."

Illario had no way of knowing it then, but that would be the last time his grandmother ever praised him.

He heard the creak of the door, and light flooded his vision before he could even open his eyes.

Illario bolted upright in bed, his breath unsteady. His gaze was unfocused, glassy, and he could feel the unmistakable dampness of tears clinging to his cheeks.

"Illario? Are you okay?"

Sienna’s soft, worried voice reached him.

Illario wanted to laugh, to groan, to throw a pillow at him and say he was fine. But when he opened his mouth, the only thing that escaped was a deep, shuddering sob.

He curled in on himself, drawing his knees up. A moment later, he felt the mattress dip as Sienna sat beside him, and without thinking, Illario leaned into him, his whole body wracked with silent, aching cries.

Sienna, endlessly patient, ran a hand over his back and bare arms, his touch light, tracing slow circles near his ribs in an attempt to steady his breathing—never applying too much pressure.

Minutes passed. Gradually, Illario stilled, his body trembling but quiet, his breath coming in uneven gasps. His face remained buried in Sienna’s chest, lost in the folds of his hood and cloak.

"A nightmare?" Sienna murmured, still stroking his hair.

"Yeah," Illario exhaled shakily, pulling in a breath, holding it, then releasing it slowly. "Yeah, you could call it that."

"I’m sorry," Sienna sighed. "I just… came to let you know Lucanis finished making dinner. If you don’t feel like eating with the team, I can bring you some—"

The mention of his cousin shattered what little composure Illario had left. A fresh sob broke from him, sharp and unrestrained.

Sienna winced slightly, then pressed a gentle kiss to his head, holding him closer with infinite care.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, tightening his embrace.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🝊 Curse in Two Bodies: 9 - I'm Sorry 🝊

Masterlist | Summary: Adelais tries and fails to apologize for his behavior towards Ninlen earlier. Ninlen tries to apologize for...well, just about everything. TW: lots of shame, lots of talk about not wanting to eat, possible financial abuse by a parent

A: Im sorry (message deleted)

N: I saw that. You’ve done it twice now.

A: Great

N: Are you okay?

A: Yes. God, you’re insufferable.

N: I’m sorry. I know I have a way of getting over-concerned with other people’s business. I’ll try to work on it, during our time together. We have to work effectively as a team, and that can’t happen if I’m fussing over you. Again, I’m sorry. 

A: Stop apologizing. It’s not like that.

A: Do you actually mean these little speeches?

N: Of course

A: But why? You haven’t done anything to me. I don’t think anyone has been this nice to me in years.

N: That’s a fucking crime.

N: I don’t understand why they couldn’t get anyone for you other than me.

A: Ha! Seriously? Maybe we *are* strangers.

N: Wait. Did it bother you, when I said that?

A: No! What do I care? It’s just not fucking accurate, okay? Maybe you don’t know shit about me but I know you. Did you know I had access to your files before you even got here?

N: I did not know that, no.

A: Credit report and everything. You grew up in Korsaivar. You dropped out of school at 14. And your checks are going into a joint back account, and then right back out again. Someone’s robbing you blind.

N: No one’s robbing me. I’m providing for my mother. I dropped out to start working fields in Montagleo for her.

A: Yeah, that too! You’ve been working the fields since 14 and you have no savings! What do you buy??

N: That’s…I genuinely don’t know how to respond to this level of economic unawareness but I understand that this is not an issue you’ve likely encountered firsthand. I’m centering myself in patience.

A: See, insufferable.

A: I know how poverty happens, you dunce. But you’re providing for your mother and nobody else on one of the few living wages that doesn’t need a degree. Like…that’s hard labor and it’s not for nothing. People go to the Montagleo fields to feed a family of three, and you’re not even married. It doesn’t make any sense. You’re just, what, giving her full access to buy anything out of your bank account?

N: She’s not well. It’s difficult for her to work.

N: She was disabled by my birth.

A: ??? That’s not your responsibility tho, you couldn’t have even prevented that

N: Nonetheless, here we are. So I want to handle it. 

A: I guess do what you want to do? Still seems like you’re being had. Idk

N: How would you feel if I said *your* parents are taking advantage of *you*?

A: After the past few days, vindicated

N: Well, I’m sorry for that, truly.

N: You’re more insightful than I give you credit for. I’m sorry if I came off harshly.

A: It’s okay. Let’s talk about something else.

N: What’s your favorite magic to practice? You must have had some amazing tutors at the palace.

A: Haaaa are you actually trying to get to know me?

N: If you wouldn’t mind it, I would like that. Up to you. You can ask me anything too. 

A: Honestly I don’t like any magic, because I suck at drawing mana. I’ve never liked the feeling of the second veins.

N: That surprises me. You mean the sensation of it?

A: Not exactly. It’s just so…not mine? I know it’s supposed to work off of my intentions. But it’s not me doing it and so unsettling. When you build a machine, you apply force and it moves. Even if different parts keep it moving, like an engine, you kickstart it. Magic isn’t like that at all. It’s something inside my body that’s not me, doing…maybe what I meant to do but maybe something else. That’s the worst part. 

N: It is like that, you’re right. You’re…occupied with a force beyond yourself. I guess I never had much that was mine, so it’s not a big deal to me. But I can understand why it wouldn’t be enjoyable, if that’s important to you.

A: Thanks for getting it. I talk nonsense sometimes.

N: No, it makes sense. Do you like machines then?

A: Yeah! I’ll have to show you the garage at some point. I’m just too tired today.

N: Have you had something to eat?

A: No. My throat hurts and it feels too much like the curse. Keeps messing with me. I’ve been staring at a bowl of soup this whole time.

A: Really not looking forward to our transfer. 

N: I’ll skip dinner tonight. I can go a day - it’s not fair for your throat to be double sore.

A: No. You’ll get sick if you go hungry. You spent too much time with me earlier. 

N: It’s okay if I do

A: The guards will make us transfer anyway. 

N: I don’t know. If neither of us cooperate, they may as well just leave it until tomorrow. We have a chance.

A: Ninlen, if I don’t get to atone in some way for at least ten minutes, I’m going to smash everything in my study

N: Atone?

N: Where is this coming from?

A: Just forget it. Get yourself beat up, if that’s what you love so much. It won’t matter.

N: I’ll give you the curse without a fight if that’s really what you want. 

N: Please feel better in the meantime though. You really need to eat. Maybe something cold, if hot isn’t working. Do you want ice cream?

A: Fuck you fuck you fuck you you’re making me cry

N: What? I don’t know how to say the right thing…

A: IT’ NOT LIKE THAT

A: I DONT DESERVE IT

N: I’m coming upstairs.

A: NO

N: Okay, um, never mind. I don’t understand what happened so quickly… Please take care of yourself. You really don’t deserve to be punished. I’m sorry.

[hours pass]

A: I didn’t mean to ruin things. Can we talk like this again tomorrow?

N: Nothing is ruined. I’d really, really like that. 

Taglist: @inhurtandincomfort @paingoes @bluelolblue @zillobeastrevival @violets-whumperflies

[v0idwraith]

quite frankly idgaf what Luigi Mangione’s politics are, he actually did something to make a change and that’s more than most people can say

[lady-raziel]

hilarious that with each new day that passes a new bit of dirt from JD Vance's past gets discovered and plastered over the internet...it's almost as if this is why presidential campaigns have always announced their running mates well before the convention...so that if glaring issues with a candidate came to light quickly there would be time to replace them on the ticket before they were officially locked in...it's almost as if certain things in political campaigns were done for a reason, donald...because the very same critical failures had happened before...but no i'm sure you and your guys attempt to recreate a fantasy version of history while ignoring all the reasons that history was a disaster will work this time...because you are built different and the 10000th time trying fascism will work like a charm...

[basofy]

i think you can be as critical about the venezuelan opposition and maría corina and edmundo as you want but arent venezuelans allowed to choose for themselves even if the options arent perfect? are you willing to justify electoral fraud and police brutality, class inequality, bad management of resources, lack of maintenance of the country, breach of the law, lack of investment in health services and education etc etc just because the person doing it is someone you like or because you don't like the other option? are people at fault for wanting something different?