#how bad can it be you think but the answer is so bad

[leriexoxo]

Truths Are For Pussies

Enemy! Changbin x Reader

Tags: smut, enemies to lovers, sexting, nudes, public groping, size kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), Dom Changbin, rough sex, breeding kink, soft aftercare

Word count: 4.7k

Summary: A drunk dare. One obscene nude you should’ve deleted months ago. You send it to the loudmouth classmate you hate most—Changbin. What you don’t expect? His filthy response. Or how fast it spirals into late-night thirst traps, voice notes, and him promising to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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You didn’t even want to go out that night.

It had been one of those weeks—back-to-back deadlines, sleepless nights, and that argument with Changbin during Tuesday’s group presentation that had left you pacing your room afterward, teeth clenched, cheeks hot.

He was too much.

Too loud. Too confident. Too all over the place.

Every class, every group chat, every hallway you tried to exist in—he was there. Smirking. Teasing. Rolling his eyes at your notes, talking over you during discussions, always finding ways to get under your skin like it was a personal hobby.

But your girls had insisted. “You need a break. You need tequila.”

So you’d gone.

Lip gloss, crop top, shots lined up like soldiers.

By midnight, the living room was a haze of heat and laughter. Someone had started a game of truth or dare with twisted rules. Everyone was half-drunk and full of bad ideas.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment your turn came and the bottle pointed at you, a few smirks lit up around the circle like a warning.

“Okay,” Layla grinned, “truth or dare?”

You hesitated. Truth was safe. Predictable. But everyone had been choosing it all night, and you’d mocked them for it. Now it was your turn to be bold.

“Dare.”

Layla didn’t hesitate.

“Send a nude to Seo Changbin… or run a full lap around the football field naked. With a suction dildo stuck to your forehead.”

The room howled.

Someone immediately got up to rummage in a drawer. “I have the dildo!”

Your stomach dropped.

You tried to laugh it off, eyes wide. “Are you fucking insane?”

“You’ve got beef with him, right?” someone snorted.

“This is perfect.”

“You’re always bickering, it’ll shake him up.”

It wasn’t the nudity that scared you. It wasn’t even Changbin.

It was what was already in your camera roll.

A photo you’d taken months ago during a particularly filthy night, when you were feeling reckless and painfully needy. The lights had been low, your skin warm, your thoughts wicked. You’d spread yourself wide open on the sheets, wet and glistening, lips parted, your own fingers pulling at your skin. Your face was in it. Your expression ruined.

You had stared at it afterward, thinking: This is too much. No one can ever see this.

But you hadn’t deleted it.

And now… your hand hovered over it. Over the send button. The whole room was watching you, waiting.

You felt drunk. Braver than you should’ve been.

So you said, too calmly, “Fine.”

And tapped send.

It only took thirty seconds for regret to sink in like poison.

What had you just done?

He was going to lose his mind. Or worse, not react at all. He could ruin you. Show people. Mock you in class. Bring it up next time you tried to speak during a lecture.

You curled into the couch, face hot, eyes burning from the alcohol and the humiliation chewing through your stomach. Your phone buzzed once.

Then twice.

You turned it over.

Changbin 💢:

Did you mean to send that?

You stared at your phone like it had grown teeth.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.

Every possible answer felt wrong. You almost typed “ignore it”, but deleted it. Then you typed:

“It was a dare. Just forget it.”

Another ping.

Changbin 💢:

That’s not the kind of photo you send as a dare.

You swallowed.

Your face was burning. All the background noise in the living room—the music, the laughter, the clinking glasses—faded to a soft murmur. The heat of the dare was starting to wear off, replaced by a sick rush of adrenaline and humiliation.

Changbin 💢:

Jesus fucking Christ.

I… I didn’t know you looked like that.

You’ve been walking around class with that between your legs?

You tightened your thighs instinctively.

You typed:

“It was a stupid dare. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But he wasn’t letting it go.

Changbin 💢:

You already had that pic?

That wasn’t a selfie. That was planned.

You took that for someone. You were gonna send it eventually.

You bit your lip.

“It’s old. I never sent it to anyone.”

Changbin 💢:

That makes it worse.

You paused.

“Why?”

Changbin 💢:

Because I’ve never wanted to fuck someone I hate more than I do right now.

You looked so good. So fucking wet. Like you needed someone to take care of it.

You blinked.

Your stomach flipped. The burn between your legs sharpened. You weren’t sure if it was arousal or pure nerves—probably both.

“This is insane.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re still the asshole who makes me want to throw things in class.”

You deleted it all.

Instead:

“You’ve seen it now. Can you just forget it?”

The reply came back instantly.

Changbin 💢:

No fucking way.

Changbin 💢:

You’re seriously gonna act like you didn’t send that on purpose? Like you don’t want me thinking about it?

Changbin 💢:

You want me hard for you, don’t you?

“No.” “Fuck off.” “Stop.”

You didn’t send any of those.

“You’re full of yourself.”

Changbin 💢:

Nah, princess. You’re the one dripping in that pic, not me.

You closed your eyes.

He was unraveling you.

The way he talked in person was always irritating—too loud, too smug. But here? In text? At 1:03 a.m.?

He was… different. Sharper. Controlled. Bold in a way that went straight to your core.

“You’re lucky I’m drunk.”

Changbin 💢:

You think I need you drunk for this?

I’d still be hard for you even if we were sober in the library.

You bit back a noise.

Your thighs rubbed together involuntarily.

Changbin 💢:

You want me to send something back? Would that make it fair? Even the score?

Your fingers twitched.

“You’re bluffing.”

Changbin 💢:

Try me.

Your pulse quickened.

“You’re not actually going to—”

Ping.

The photo loaded slowly.

Dark sweatpants. No shirt. His abs were tight, skin glowing with a warm amber sheen like he’d taken the pic right after a workout. His hand tugged the waistband down low, and the bulge beneath was unmistakable—huge, thick, pressed to the fabric like it was dying to be freed.

You inhaled, sharp.

The outline of his cock was ridiculous. Heavy. Thick at the base, curving up. The tip clearly outlined. The kind of size that made your body react before your brain caught up.

And his caption?

Changbin 💢:

Now you can imagine what’s gonna fill you the next time you talk back in class.

You didn’t realize your mouth had gone dry until you swallowed hard.

Someone from the living room called your name. “Babe! Your turn!”

“I’ll be right back,” you called, voice strained.

You grabbed your phone, pushed off the couch, and disappeared into the hallway. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere you could breathe.

And think.

And maybe—just maybe—look again.

Because for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t sure if you hated him… or if you just didn’t know what to do with how badly you suddenly wanted him.

—

You thought you could outlast the tension.

After the photo he sent—the dick print, the way it looked too big to even be real, the caption that made your thighs clench—you told yourself it was just late-night chaos. That once the sun came up, you could pretend it hadn’t happened.

You left him on read.

Muted the conversation.

Avoided every look in class, kept your expression cold, distant.

But Changbin?

He was different now.

Quieter. Sharper. Dangerous.

He still joked with the guys. Still sat in the same row as always. But whenever your eyes flicked up, he was watching you—really watching. Like he could still see that photo of you spread open and dripping every time you bit your lip or crossed your legs.

And when your professor assigned a partner project and called out his name alongside yours?

You knew it was over.

Later that afternoon, the library was quiet. Too quiet. The air between you was thick with something unsaid as you stood beside where he sat, laptops open, pretending to focus.

You tried not to look at him.

Tried not to remember the outline of his cock stretching grey fabric. The way he’d said “what’s gonna fill you next time you talk back in class.”

Your body hadn’t forgotten.

You’d touched yourself to that image more times than you were ready to admit.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.

You didn’t look at him. “I’m working.”

“Right.”

“That’s what you were doing the other night too, huh? Working?”

You stiffened.

“I didn’t take you for the type to keep that kind of photo in your phone. Or was it just waiting for someone better to see it?”

You finally turned. “Are you done?”

He leaned back slightly in his chair, smirking—but something darker hid behind his eyes. He leaned in towards you, low and quiet.

“No. Not even close.”

You didn’t notice when he stood. But you did feel it when he moved behind you.

At first, it was just his hand brushing your shoulder as he leaned to peek at your screen.

Then he didn’t move away.

Instead, you felt the heavy press of his chest behind you. His palm slid slowly—casually—over your back. Lower. Resting at the curve of your waist.

And then he shifted—just slightly—and you felt it.

The unmistakable weight of him.

Hard. Thick. Pressed right up against your ass.

Your breath hitched.

“Miss me?” he whispered.

Your cheeks burned. “You’re disgusting.”

“Am I?”

“Because this…” his hand flattened against your hip, pulling you subtly back into his body, into his cock—“says otherwise.”

You should’ve shoved him.

Should’ve snapped, slapped, screamed.

But your body betrayed you.

Your thighs clenched. Your breathing went shallow.

And when his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt, you didn’t move away.

If anything—you leaned back.

“You liked it,” he murmured, lips just behind your ear.

“You liked knowing I saw you like that. That I wanted to fuck you from the second that photo lit up my screen.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, hungrier. “But your body doesn’t agree.”

His hand slid lower, palm resting on your ass now—really grabbing, squeezing, like it was his already. He rutted against you once, slow, just enough to let you feel the size of him again.

You gasped, barely holding in the noise.

“Poor thing,” he whispered.

“Trying so hard to act like you don’t want this cock stretching you open.”

You closed your eyes. “We’re in a fucking library.”

“And you’re soaked,” he growled. “Aren’t you?”

You were.

You hated him for it.

But God—you wanted more.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Tell me you don’t want me pushing these panties to the side and sliding in right here.”

You didn’t say anything.

And neither did your body.

Because for the first time, you weren’t sure who was in control—him, or the ache between your legs screaming for more.

His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened—fingers flexing into the curve of your hips like he wanted to memorize the way you fit under his hands.

You told yourself to move.

To snap out of it.

To shove his cocky ass away and slap the heat off your face.

But instead… you shifted.

Barely. Subtly. Almost like a breath.

Your hips arched back just the tiniest bit—and you felt him twitch.

Big. Hot. Hard against you.

And god help you, you did it again.

This time, he chuckled. Low and raspy.

“Keep doing that and I’m gonna take it personally.”

His voice buzzed against the shell of your ear, warm and wicked.

“I can swear you’re wet.”

“I’m not,” you breathed, barely able to form the words.

“No?”

One of his hands slid from your hip, slipping lower, slow and deliberate. Your skirt offered no protection—his fingers eased beneath the hem with practiced ease, knuckles brushing your thigh.

“Then you won’t mind if I check.”

You gasped. “Changbin—”

But it was too late.

His hand slid up. Under your skirt. Under your panties.

And then—his fingers paused.

Right at your slit.

Slick. Dripping. Heat soaked through cotton and flushed onto his fingertips.

He let out a quiet groan, something dark and pleased.

“Fuck me…”

You froze.

“You’re soaked.”

You should’ve died of embarrassment.

Instead, you whimpered—barely, breath catching in your throat. Your thighs twitched, instinctively trying to close, but his hand was already there, slipping further, middle finger pressing through the wetness and parting you open.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “Fighting me in public, dripping for me in private.”

“You can’t—” you whispered, but your voice cracked halfway through.

“I can,” he said. “And I am.”

His fingertip circled your entrance, not quite pushing in. Just enough to tease. To test how badly your body wanted him.

And it did.

God, it did.

“All this just from my picture?” he murmured. “You really are a dirty little thing.”

“Changbin, we’re—someone could—”

“Then stay quiet,” he whispered, lips grazing your ear. “Be a good girl and let me feel what you’ve been hiding from me.”

You squirmed against him, helpless. His hard-on grinding into your ass. His hand between your legs. Your body betraying everything your mouth refused to say.

But then—he pulled back. Slow. Measured and wicked.

“Not here,” he muttered. “Not yet.”

You let out a shaky exhale, unsure if it was relief or frustration.

“You’re not ready.”

He said it like a promise. Even more like a plan.

—

That night, your phone lit up before midnight.

Changbin 💢

You touching yourself right now?

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach.

“No.”

A lie.

You’d been thinking about his finger, barely there, slicking through your folds. The way he pressed against you like he could fuck you through your clothes. The restraint he showed—pulling away just when you were about to lose it.

Changbin 💢:

Liar. You were dripping earlier. You think that goes away?

Changbin 💢:

You want help?

Your breath caught.

Then another message.

📷 An image.

A mirror selfie. Taken low. No shirt. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. But this time… no filter, no teasing.

His cock was hard. So obvious. Thick and curving up in those grey sweats, the head visibly straining against the fabric. His hand was wrapped around the base, gripping himself through the material.

Your core clenched.

Changbin 💢:

You made me like this. Do something about it.

Another ping.

🎧An audio file.

You hesitated… then tapped.

His voice—low, breathless, filthy—filled your room.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

You bit your knuckle.

“Bet you’re wet again just hearing this.”

You were.

And you knew damn well… this was only the beginning because it was obvious that you knew you should stop.

Mute the chat. Turn your phone off. Go to sleep.

But instead, you hit play again.

Changbin’s voice filled your room for the second time, low and unsteady.

“Wish you were here right now. I’d be in you already. So deep you’d cry. Want you moaning my name with your thighs wrapped around my waist.”

Your hand had already slipped under the waistband of your shorts. Shame curled hot in your chest, but it wasn’t enough to stop you.

Not with his voice saying things like that.

Not when your body was still aching from what he’d done in the library.

You typed, hesitant:

“You’re a menace.”

Changbin 💢:

And you’re quiet. You touching yourself again?

“No.”

Changbin 💢:

You’re such a bad liar.

Another ping. Another message.

Changbin 💢:

Say my name once, and I’ll show you the real thing. But let me hear how down bad you are first.

Your legs squeezed together.

He wasn’t letting up.

Not just the teasing — the control. The way he peeled you open without even being in the same room. It was like he’d figured out every weakness you had and was pressing on all of them at once.

You typed:

“You want me to say your name?”

Changbin 💢:

Just once. Out loud. Right now.

I know you’re touching yourself, i just want to hear you.

Your heart pounded. You stared at the audio reply button. Your thumb hovered.

“I’m not sending you a voice note.”

Changbin 💢:

Why not?

You’re already soaked. Already picturing it, aren’t you?

Changbin 💢:

Me pulling your legs apart. Spitting on your pussy.

Sliding in nice and slow while you beg me to ruin it.

You let out a shaky breath.

Changbin 💢:

C’mon, baby.

Be a good girl and let me hear how badly you want it.

The words good girl punched straight through your resolve.

Your finger hovered over the record button.

You didn’t overthink it. Didn’t script it. But at the back of your mind, you knew shouldn’t have done it.

You knew the second you hit record—you were crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the heat in your stomach, the ache between your legs, the way Changbin’s voice still echoed in your ears? It all left you trembling.

So you moaned. You whimpered.

And you said his name.

“Changbin…”

You sounded so fucking needy. So shameless and desperate.

Exactly how you felt.

You hit send with your heart in your throat, thighs clenched tight around your own hand. And then you waited—seconds dragging, breath caught in your chest.

Then: ping.

🎥A video.

No caption. No warning.

You hesitated, pulse in your ears, then tapped it.

The first thing you saw was skin—his hand, wrapped tight around the base of his cock. Thick. Hard. Heavy. His head was a darker shade of his skin, glistening with precum, veins running thick along the shaft.

The next thing you heard?

His voice. Ragged. Strained.

“This what you want, baby?”

He was filming from above, cock in his fist, his abs flexing as he pumped slowly, steadily. Each stroke was loud and wet. His hand moved like he was imagining you were already wrapped around him—tight, dripping, ruined.

“Been jerking off since you moaned my name,” he growled. “You sound so fucking pretty when you’re begging.”

You bit your lip so hard it almost bled.

“Wanna cum in you so bad,” he panted. “Wanna watch it drip out of you. Want you to feel it for days.”

And then—he grunted. Shuddered.

And came.

Ropes of it. Thick spurts shooting across his abs, the head of his cock twitching violently in his grip.

“That’s all for you,” he breathed, voice wrecked.“Next time, I’m doing that inside.”

The video ended, but you were done for.

You stared at your screen like it had punched you in the stomach. Heat licked down your spine. Your hand had slipped between your legs again before you even realized it.

You replayed the video.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

You wanted to taste it. Feel it. Be under it.

Then your screen lit up again.

Changbin 💢:

You still there?

Your fingers trembled. You didn’t even overthink it.

You typed:

“I need you.”

[📍Location Shared]

And hit send.

—

You barely had time to think.

One knock. That’s all it took.

You opened the door and he was on you—mouth crashing into yours, body pinning you flat against the wall like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

He kissed like a man possessed.

Like your voice note had ruined him. Like your moan had carved something primal into his chest and he couldn’t shake it loose.

His tongue slid past your lips, rough and greedy, tasting you like he had to claim you first.

“Fuck,” he growled against your mouth. “Took you long enough.”

You barely had time to respond—his hands were already under your shirt, palming your tits like they were his, thumbs flicking your nipples until you whimpered.

“This all for me?” he asked, breath hot.

“This pussy been soaking since the second I sent that video?”

You gasped as he shoved one leg between yours, grinding up against your clothed heat—his cock already hard, pressing through his sweats like a weapon.

“God,” he groaned. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Can’t wait anymore.”

He picked you up like you weighed nothing, carried you into your own apartment without breaking the kiss, and dropped you—hard—onto the kitchen counter.

Before you could speak, your shorts were yanked down and off. Your panties, too. Ripped aside with one rough pull.

“Fucking knew it,” he muttered as he spread you open. “Look at this wet little pussy. So damn ready for me.”

“You’re such a—”

“Say it,” he snarled, two fingers sliding through your folds, circling your clit just right.

“Say it while I ruin you.”

You choked on a moan, hips jerking up. His fingers dipped inside—thick, slow, curling—testing you.

“Tight,” he hissed. “So fuckin’ tight already.

How the hell you gonna take my cock, baby?”

You looked down—and froze.

He’d pushed his sweats down just enough, and there it was. All of it.

His cock was thick. Long. Veiny. Angry-red at the tip, already leaking. You’d seen the outline. You’d watched him stroke it on video. But up close?

It was fucking terrifying.

And you wanted every inch.

“I’m gonna mess you up real pretty.” he whispered, dragging the head through your slick folds.

“You’re not walking tomorrow.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Changbin—fuck—”

“What’s that, princess?” he smirked. “You scared of this cock now?”

“Shut the fuck up and give it to me.”

That was all he needed.

He lined up and slammed in—

The stretch was obscene. Your back arched, a broken cry ripped from your throat. He didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. He bottomed out in one brutal stroke, hips snapping forward until his balls slapped against you.

“FUCK,” he growled, head dropping to your shoulder. “Tight little cunt’s squeezing the shit outta me.”

You clawed at his back, desperate to breathe, but it felt too good. The way he filled you—so deep, so thick—you felt him in your stomach.

“Took it all, huh?” he rasped, pulling back just to thrust in harder. “Greedy little thing.”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like he was punishing you for every time you rolled your eyes in class. For every time you told him to shut up.

You were moaning like a pornstar—loud, shameless, wrecked—as he pounded into you on the kitchen counter, sweat dripping, his abs flexing with every thrust.

“You were made for this cock,” he groaned. “Fucking built to take it like a good girl.”

He pulled out suddenly, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you into the living room.

“Bed’s too far. Couch. Now.”

You stumbled, legs shaking. He bent you over the armrest, slapped your ass once—hard—and buried himself inside again with a brutal snap of his hips.

“This ass…” he groaned. “You know how many times I’ve stared at it in class?”

“Wanted to fuck you bent over all the damn desks.”

Your moans were broken now—choked sobs of pleasure every time his hips slammed into you.

He wrapped his hand around your throat, not too tight—just enough to own you.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “Big cock splitting you open. My hand on your neck. My cum dripping out of you.”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Changbin, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop.”

His grip tightened. His thrusts turned savage.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he warned. “I want it leaking down your thighs when you go to class tomorrow. I want everyone to know this pussy’s mine.”

You clenched around him—hard—and he lost it.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—”

He came deep inside you, groaning like he was unraveling from the core. Hot spurts filling you up, cock twitching inside your walls.

You collapsed forward, shaking.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out, flipped you onto the rug, and dropped to his knees.

“Need to taste you.”

His tongue went straight to your core, licking up his own mess, spreading it across your folds as he devoured you like he’d starved for days.

“Not leaving till you cum on my face.”

And you did.

Screaming his name. Shaking. Barely able to think.

Your first mistake had been sending that photo.

But your biggest mistake?

Letting him in.

Because now?

You’d never get him out.

—

You couldn’t move.

You were sprawled out on your back on the rug, blinking at the ceiling, your entire body throbbing with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you. You felt wrecked in the best, most glorious way.

And yet—somehow—Changbin was the one panting like he’d just gone through hell.

He lay beside you, arm thrown over his face dramatically.

“I’m filing a formal complaint,” he groaned. “Your pussy should come with a fucking warning label.”

You wheezed out a laugh.

“Says the guy who just broke my uterus.”

He turned his head, looked at you.

And melted.

The shift was instant—his gaze softened, mouth twitching into the tiniest smile. He scooted closer, propped himself on one elbow, and brushed your sweaty hair off your cheek.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle. “Like… really okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten years. Then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheekbone—everywhere but your lips, like he was saving those for dessert.

“I swear I didn’t mean to fuck you like a caveman,” he mumbled. “I blacked out. You made that sound and I was just—gone.”

“You were terrifying,” you whispered, smiling. “In the hottest possible way.”

That made him grin.

He reached over for the hoodie he’d left slung on the chair and helped you into it—actually helped, like lifting your arms, guiding it over your head, kissing your shoulder once it was on.

Then he grabbed a warm towel, knelt between your legs, and started cleaning you up with the softest, most careful touch.

“Can’t have my girl leaking all over the carpet,” he murmured.

“Your girl?”

He looked up with a cocky smirk.

“You just let me raw dog you and you screamed my name for the neighbors, baby. Don’t play shy now.”

You tried to glare, but he leaned forward and kissed your knee. Then your thigh. Then higher.

“Next time,” he said, “I’m taking you slower. Gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

Your stomach flipped.

“You’re already thinking about next time?”

He glanced up at you with a boyish little shrug.

“I think about you all the time.”

Your heart stuttered. Because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded real. Raw. Like the truth.

He saw your expression shift and leaned in, his lips brushing your temple.

“Not just the sex,” he murmured.

“I think about you when you fight with the professor. When you tie your hoodie strings in knots. When you roll your eyes at me like you always do.”

“Binnie—”

“I like you,” he whispered.

Simple. Honest.

And it hit you harder than any orgasm.

You buried your face in his chest. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, one big palm cupping the back of your head like he could hide you there forever.

“You hungry?” he murmured.

“Starving.”

“Good. I got us pizza and fried chicken.”

You looked up. “You really ordered food while I was moaning your name?”

He smirked. “Actually did it on my way here but I can multitask baby.”

You laughed into his chest, and he kissed your head again.

When the food arrived, you sat curled in his lap, eating from his chopsticks while he kissed sauce off your lips between bites.

Later, when you were tucked into bed and halfway to sleep, he whispered:

“You were fucking perfect tonight.”

“I’m gonna be addicted to you now.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just pulled his arm tighter around you and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

Because you already were.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Its been a hot minute without a Binnie smut 💪🏻 How are we liking this cute little enemies to lovers?? 🤭❤️

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura @ocean-glacierblue

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

hard hours 003:

WooSan making you tap out

RATED XXXX. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Choi San x Jung Wooyoung x fem reader

➯a/n: i think my meditation needs to be adjusted 🥴 this started as a drabble but i just want the teezers to be mean to me so bad...

(>ᴗ•)genre: literal filth like so bad

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, poly relationship, hard doms woosan / sub reader, such intense bdsm it almost borders cnc, orgasm control: edging / INTENSE clit overstimulation / asking permission, use of a vibrator, HARD degradation, regular slapping and thigh + pussy slapping, spit, choking, manhandling, dacryphilia, mxm: kissing and jerking, neck and ear kisses and bites, dvp, squirting, talk of anal, use of a safe word / tapping out and then super sweet praise and reassurance, name calling(including but not limited to): stupid, slut, cock sleeve, fucker, bitch, pet names: pretty girl, baby, angel, sweetheart. aftercare <33

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+.MINORS GET LOST.

─..★.─────

In your relationship, things are usually the same from day to day in how you treat each other.

That is not the case in the bedroom.

Your dynamics shift everytime you have sex, and sometimes even during the middle of it. It's always a surprise.

Today, both of your boyfriends happen to be dominant; and their treatment of you from the very moment they walked in the door made you fall head first into sub-space.

When San is dominant, he likes to tease — but not to the degree with which Wooyoung does.

San is soft about it. Slow thrusts and gentle touches.

Wooyoung is a jerk about it. Works you up fast and pulls away just before you can cum — but sometimes he doesn't pull away and he practically slaps you in the face with an orgasm.

Both of them, though, not only do they work in a perfect harmony to make you drip so much arousal that you ruin whoever's sheets you happen to be on — they decide when you cum.

You must ask for permission. And if you don't, you will regret it in the most beautiful and torturous ways.

San told you not to cum again after you failed to ask for permission the first time today.

But Wooyoung persisted in being a menace. He wants you to slip up again and cum, whispering all kinds of filth in your ear as he lays behind you. One hand over your chest, holding your back against his chest as he slides the vibrator up and down on your sensitive clit.

He wants to punish you. He's had a shitty week, they both have. And he wants to be mean. But you have to give them a reason first.

You only get one mistake. You can only slip up once before punishment is deemed 'fair'.

And you try. You try so hard to keep being a good girl. But Wooyoung tilts your head and kisses you, shoves his tongue in your mouth just as he starts moving the toy in slow circles against you. You can't ask for permission if you can't talk at all.

You cum. And it feels like heaven, but you know the hell that will follow when San — who had been grinding deep and slow in your gushing pussy; stops.

He laughs, head dropping to rest on your shoulder as Wooyoung pulls back with a smirk. "Did you just do what I think you did, pretty girl?"

"I'm sorry!" The waterworks are immediate, but they don't care. You're so cute when you try to get out of trouble — but it makes them want to ruin you even more when they're like this.

"Are you stupid?" Wooyoung asks with a wild grin, eyes dark. "Huh?" He grips your chin tightly when you don't answer fast enough; even though he only gives you a split second. "Say something, dumbass. Or did you forget how to speak, and that's why you just came all over Sannies cock without permission... again?"

"I'm sorry, baby-" You yelp as he suddenly moves out from behind you and pushes you flat against the mattress, dropping the vibrator to wrap both his hands around your neck.

San has just as evil a smile as he sits up and watches, grinding into you as he does so and making you squeal. When your eyes slam shut, he reaches up and slaps you. "Keep your fucking eyes open."

"M'sor-"

"Sorry doesn't quite cut it," Wooyoung turns and faces him, his voice laced with mischief, "does it, San?"

"No, I don't think it does," he pouts, mockingly, meeting your teary gaze, "I think if our girl acts like a slut, that's exactly the way we should treat her."

"San, wait, Sannie, San-ahhh!" You scream as he picks up the toy and presses it against your clit; not caring about the fact that it makes tears slip down your cheeks. In fact — he likes it. They both do. "Mercy! Mercy, ple-"

Wooyoung chokes the words right out of your neck, spitting into your open mouth as you grab his wrists. "Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your throat. Won't be able to beg then, will you?"

You bite your lip with a broken groan, swallowing his spit without hardly even registering he spat in your mouth in the first place because San is now moving again — and he's not being gentle about it.

He slams his hips so hard into you that it makes your body slide up the mattress. You nearly bump your head against the wall before Wooyoung puts his hand on the top of your head quickly and cushions it. All of your noises are coming out no matter how hard you press your lips together.

Sniffling, moaning, whining, and being fucked so hard it's literally shaking your body.

San groans deeply, pulling out all too quickly and making you hiss. "Running from it, angel? Hm? Get your pretty ass over here." He yanks you to the middle of the bed before you can even think about moving on your own. "You want to cum like a slut, I'm going to fuck you like a slut. Wooyoung, get over here and hold this bitch down."

"Oh, with pleasure~"

You groan as Wooyoung sits on your stomach, facing away from you and taking control of the vibrator once again as San grips both of your thighs and slams into you. You scream out a curse, grabbing the waistband of Wooyoung's boxers tightly as they start bombarding you with pleasure that's all too intense.

"What's wrong, baby?" San's voice drips with mock empathy, "I thought you wanted to cum so bad? We're just giving you what you wanted." he slaps your thigh, rough. "Say thank you."

"Thank you, Sannie! Please! Please, slow down!" You stutter and slur as you writhe uselessly below them.

Wooyoung tuts his tongue, upping the speed of the vibrator and causing you to kick your legs in Sans grasp to no avail. "I'm the one who made you cum, you dumb cock sleeve. Should be thanking me."

They share a smirk as you immediately start thanking the both of them while simultaneously begging for mercy. Because in all of your jumbled and sniffled words, they don't hear your safe word.

They will make you use it before they quit. Pushing stupid sluts like you to their limit is the only way they learn, Wooyoung likes to say as though he isn't a million times brattier when he's subbing. But then, maybe that's how he knows.

"She's so fucking cute like this," San chuckles as you clench and flutter around his pistoning cock, "good job, Young." He leans and catches his lips in a kiss, soft in comparison to the way he beats up your cunt.

And they don't stop when you cum once again, squealing and trying to arch under Wooyoung's weight while your eyes roll back. "Ffffuck!" Is all you can say as you slump, not given a single moment to rest before they're building you up all over again.

"Three times?" Wooyoung giggles against San's lips, "our girlfriend really is a cum junkie~" He yanks at his boxers, impatiently pulling them under his cock. He's just as much as you are, is evident.

"You're s-so meaaan," you say through your heavy breaths, hands sliding around the bed to find something to grab onto. You pull the pillow you grab to your chest and bury your face in it; soaking it with your tears.

"Shut up," they say together, sharing another grin.

San let's go of one of your legs and it drops to the side, useless and trembling. He wraps his hand around Wooyoung's length, spitting on it before he starts jerking him off quickly.

"Fuck, Sannie~" He tilts his head back, pressing the toy against your clit harsher to feel you shiver below him. "You might make me cum before I even have a chance to fuck her..."

He looks down slowly and meets San's gaze, a silent idea spoken between them.

Wooyoung rolls off of you quickly, all but flopping onto his back. He fists his cock roughly; watching as San pulls out of you roughly and starts spanking your ruined cunt.

"San!" The way your body jolts with each quick, precise hit makes their cocks twitch.

He spits right onto your swollen clit, slapping it even harder than before as he moans, "look at that sloppy pussy. So wet... I bet both of us could fuck you right now."

They both laugh as you peek your eyes over the edge of the pillow that you clutch to your chest, wide and blurry with tears.

"Yeah, you heard me," San says lowly, swiping his fingers against your clit so fast that it makes sloshing noises, "this wet little cock sleeve is going to take two at once. Gonna let us slip right in~"

"Give me this," Wooyoung growls as he yanks the pillow away from you, throwing it, "you don't get to hide from us."

San lifts you up before you can even pout and drops you on top of Wooyoung, who immediately fucks right into you; knocking the air from your burning lungs. "Fuuuck, I dunno, San... This bitch is still tight even when you've been fucking her." He puts his legs over yours and spreads them wide, pinning them to the bed. His hands find your breasts, squeezing and pinching and kneading and making you wail.

"We'll just make it fit."

When San lines his tip up with your stretched hole, you shake your head quickly, "please, please, I swear I won't cum again! Be gent- ah, fuck!" And he pounds right into you, stilling balls deep with Wooyoung. You convulse between them, another orgasm breaking over you and making you sob breathlessly.

"Shhh," you hardly hear Wooyoung as he coos into your ear, kissing at it softly, "there you go~" He slides his hand down your torso before landing on your lower stomach and pressing down, making you all moan. "Mmh~ This is how a cock sleeve should be treated, yeah? All stretched out- fuck-" He curses as you clench around them, causing San to grip your waist tightly. "Fuck, fuck," he whines a bit, thrusting into you with a merciless and hurried pace, "fuck her with me, Sannie. I want to feel her cum around us, she gets so tight~"

San complies, immediately; fucking you in tandem with him, moaning and groaning as he buries his face in your neck. Every time he nips at your heated flesh, he earns himself a whimper from you. And Wooyoung biting at your ear lobe gets just the same.

"One more," he whispers into your neck, kissing up slowly, "one more, let us feel it. Be a good girl. Give our Wooyoungie what he wants~" He tilts his head as he observes your tear streaked face before leaning forward and licking a fat strip up your cheek; making you slap at his shoulders.

"God, yes!" He yells, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly as San holds it. "Better cum for me, you fucker," he bites your neck, harder than San ever does. He licks the angry skin before he says again, "you'll cream on our cocks if you know what's good for you, slut. I'll stick it in your ass if you don't give me what I want, you know I will, angel."

"I c-can't!" You whimper, holding Sans shoulders tightly.

Everytime Wooyoung fucks up into you, San fucks you right back down. You can hardly breathe. Just when you're about to use your safe word, catching your breath to do so, Wooyoung slips a hand down your stomach softly and grazes his finger tips over your clit.

"Like hell you can't," you can't hear a word he's saying as he pinches your clit — and even though he does it semi-gently, because he knows how ruined you are, it makes you scream. "You're going to cum like the slut you are or I really am going to fuck your pretty little ass."

He almost hopes you don't; but of course you do. How can you not? Both of them stretching and prodding every inch of your insides, Wooyoung pinching your clit, San kissing and licking up your tears.

Your legs tremble under his, your hips jolting in between them, your jaw dropped in a silent scream that's more of a shattered gasp than anything else as you squirt all over them.

San cums first, and the warmth of it flooding your abused walls makes Wooyoung follow.

San holds himself up on slightly shaky arms, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours. Wooyoung moves to keep going when they both catch you whimpering out quickly, "tap out."

San opens his eyes quickly, meeting your gaze with a smile, "good girl~" And he kisses you gently, pecks your lips repeatedly. "You're so amazing, angel, you can take so much~"

Wooyoung wraps his arms back around your waist, hugging you gently as he slowly moves his legs off of yours. "Take your punishments so well- doesn't she, Sannie?" He hums contentedly as he nuzzles your shoulder from behind.

"So well~" He agrees, very slowly pulling out and shushing you softly as you whine. "Shhh, it's okay, I know... We were so rough with our pretty girl," he sits back, lifting your hips softly to help Wooyoung slide out of you. "But we're done now, promise."

You hardly have the wits about you to stutter out a softly spoken 'thank you'.

Their cum drips out of you slowly and puddles on Wooyoung's pelvis, making you shiver and melt further into his hold.

"You got her, Young?" San asks as he places a kiss to your quivering thigh.

"Mhm," he hums softly, tracing on your ribs softly, "I've got our perfect girl, but don't be too long. You want to cuddle, don't you, baby?"

It takes you a second to realize he's talking to you, and you nod at San quickly, "yeah, hurry, please."

"I'll be quick," he smiles, leaning over and placing another kiss on your lips before he slides off the bed and hurries to the bathroom.

Wooyoung holds you close to his chest, still rubbing his head against your shoulder softly like a pleased house cat. "You're such a good girl for us, you know that? Our perfect girl~"

You moan softly, lifting your shaky arms to rest over his. "You aren't mad?" You know they aren't, but you still want to make extra sure. You feel so light headed and vulnerable; and he eases all of your worries before they can fester.

"Why would we be mad? Of course not, angel. We like it when we make you tap out~"

"Hm," you giggle, whispering, "freaks."

"What's that, baby? You dooo want me to put it in your ass?" He teases you right back, kissing your shoulder as you laugh breathlessly.

San comes back, climbing back between your legs with a soft grin, "feeling good, sweetheart?" He gently cleans up your sore cunt as you nod with a dopey smile.

"Always perfect with you two."

─..003.tap out.─────

[methodwriting]

as a teacher i would really like to know what the solution to this could be? it’s simply not possible to can AI back into non-existence or non-relevance -it might do it itself as it increasingly becomes more paywalled but for now… believe me we’ve tried. my state even banned all cellphones an devices inside schools but as you’ve exemplified with sparknotes, when there’s a will there’s a way. while this certainly makes my work harder, i don’t have much of a choice. teachers are not cops i cannot and will not spend my time pursuing “AI offenders”. i know that it is also my job that they learn something so something must be done. i admit the question was loaded because you’ve given an answer to it already in that i’m pretty sure someone had to teach you how to use sparknotes they way you did, be it a teacher, a classmate, or the internet but this is not some innate knowledge or else we wouldn’t have had students trying to hand copy-pasted sparknotes analysis on the regular back in my (our?) day -arguably enough so to have to implement anti-plagiarism tools on university campuses.

i think the middle ground here could be exactly that. to literally teach kids how to critically use a tool that yes it’s controversial but they are going to be using it anyway because rationally why wouldn’t you help yourself if school is giving you a hard or a boring time? i don’t think it’s productive to demonize this from a cognitive perspective as it corrals us in a sum zero game of “well if you can’t make people stop using it then all is lost” which i don’t think is true even.

that said i believe part of this fear with AI is more about how it’s exposing deeper flaws in our education systems that we refuse to address so it’s easier to go: big tech bad. which is reductionist at best and incredibly harmful for teachers and educators. students use AI because school is not meaningful and it is not meaningful because the incentive-reward system is no longer working, which it was never going to be because a prison-like monolith turned investor venture (private education) is not sustainable on the long run. i have so much more to say on that front but i just refuse to waste my time and energy fighting windmills when the board of investors refusing to let teachers unionize, continuously pressing to defund public education so they can and raise the cost of tuition while at the same time cutting my and my coworkers’ hours to maximize profits, is right there.

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

[chimielie]

"Isn't it a little much?" You pause your step on your way into the elevator, blinking at your coworker. Rinne, a pretty girl with light eyes and a perpetual hand on her hip, smiles at you as she pushes past, her lips stretching over her teeth. "I saw Rin-kun's Instagram."

Her casual reference to your boyfriend takes you aback. You didn't know they were so close.

"Ha, I'm sure," you say. "He likes posting a lot, doesn't he?" Rintarō fancies himself a photographer. Mostly, he takes mirror selfies and turns the exposure down very low. He sends you three a day minimum. You, trapped in a cubicle, are only able to sneak away to the bathroom to reciprocate once on average.

"He has a great eye for aesthetics," she nods. "His feed is very satisfying. You're lucky to have him."

"Eh," you shrug. For some reason, she emits a noise something like a whistling kettle.

"So mean!" She shakes her head. You snort. Rintarō gets annoyed with people who are too nice. He thinks they leave a bad taste in his mouth, like eating sugar before bed without brushing your teeth. "You force him to put you in his bio and then act ungrateful? Someone else might come and take him from you."

"What?" you say. The elevator dings, signifying that you've reached the lobby. "He's, like, super whipped."

The doors slide open and you step through, turning when you notice that she hasn't followed. She's hanging out in the elevator, her mouth open like you said something shocking. You wonder momentarily if you had—but shouldn't partners be obsessed with each other?

You forget about it as soon as you see him. Rintarō's bangs are falling into his eyes as he leans over the receptionist's desk, looking ridiculously large as he braces his forearms on the low white marble counter to bend to her level. You quicken your step and he whirls around just before you can make contact, scooping you up and sighing happily as you throw your arms around his neck.

Rinne is almost out the door of the building. You shout a goodbye after her, but she must not hear you, because she doesn't respond.

"Did you have a good day?" Rintarō asks as you bow goodbye to the receptionist.

"No," you say. "You didn't replace the toilet paper after you used up the last roll and it ruined everything."

It's not until you're back home, lying comfortably with your head on him so his heartbeat is there, loud and clear and strong in your ear, that you remember.

"Hey," you say, taking the hand holding yours up to your mouth and biting lightly, lower teeth on the pulse point. You can hear his heartbeat kick up, which makes you grin. "What's your Instagram bio?"

He laughs, a quiet chuff that makes you feel like you've stepped into the sun from an air conditioned building. How lucky you are, to love this man in a language all your own.

"Who told you about that?"

"One of the girls at work asked," you say. "I had no idea you and Rinne were friends."

"Who?" He squints. "I don't know anyone with that name. The annoying one from the last holiday function?"

You swat at him but don't correct him. "Yeah. She said you have a satisfying feed."

He rolls his eyes, his mouth still kicked up in a smile so you can see his sharp right canine. Unfairly attractive, your man is.

"I like that you don't give a shit about pissing on your territory, you know that?"

You frown.

"Gross! What're you even talking about?"

He doesn't answer, infuriatingly. He just types something in and hands you his phone.

His bio reads: sunarin: my girlfriend is cooler.

Your account is tagged, but you rarely use Instagram and you don't even have the app, so you rely on him to hunt down all the good reels and help you stalk people from high school and whatever else you might need it for. It's sweet. His feed is nice enough, you think, not half as good as the album of pictures of his sleeping face that rotate as your lockscreen.

"No wonder people think I'm some kind of crazy girlfriend," you say, handing the phone back to him. He sets it aside and puts his hand on your back, warm and solid. "You're making me enemies at work."

"Aren't you gonna say I'm sweet?" He goads.

"For stating facts? It's not out of the goodness of your heart," you poke him. "It's just true."

[pohtaytoh]

ENCHANTED

⍣ ೋ Manon Bannerman x F!Reader

Y/N, the homebody that she is, was forced into attending a party because her friend needed a companion—someone who could drive her home when she gets wasted—and so, here she was, on a couch, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, when she spotted someone that made her think, maybe parties aren't so bad after all.

It was the 31st of December, which meant in a few hours, everyone would be celebrating New Year’s Eve. This meant Y/N would have to deal with her loud neighbors for the umpteenth time again this week. Don't get her wrong, they’re all sweet; they give her food that they prepared—sometimes she's grateful because she doesn't have to cook after a tiring day at work—even inviting her to their weekly barbecue party sometimes; however, she prefers keeping to herself, so she always declines their invites with a smile and a lie.

“Oh, I apologize; I need to finish some papers that are due tomorrow. Thank you for the invite, though.”

“I had a tiring day at work, and I am not really in the mood for some barbecue. I’m sorry, enjoy your party though!”

These were her usual excuses, her neighbors, bless their kind hearts, always seemed to accept them without question, perhaps too caught up in their own lives to notice the hesitation in her voice or the subtle way she taps her foot on the ground impatiently as she attempts to retreat back into her cozy apartment.

Tonight, the festive din was already starting. The scent of grilled meat and a medley of spices blew through her open window, mixing with the distant sound of pop music. She sighed, adjusting her headphones, but even the loudest of her classical music playlists couldn't entirely drown out the joyous chaos next door. She had just settled in for a quiet evening of reading, a mug of chamomile tea steaming beside her, when her phone buzzed. It was Maya, her oldest and most insistent friend.

“Y/N! You HAVE to come with me tonight!” the message read, followed by exclamation points and emojis.

Y/N groaned. Maya was notorious for her sudden urges to go out, especially when it involved a party she deemed "unmissable." Y/N typed out a quick, polite refusal. “Sorry, Maya, you know I’m not really a party person. I was just about to settle in for the night.”

Her phone immediately rang. Y/N knew better than to ignore Maya’s calls when she was on a mission. She answered, bracing herself.

“Y/N! Don’t you dare tell me you’re staying in again!” Maya’s voice was a high-pitched whine. “It’s New Year’s Eve! The one night of the year everyone goes out! You can’t just… read a book.”

“I can, actually,” Y/N countered, a small smile playing on her lips. She knew Maya meant well, but her idea of a good time and Y/N’s were polar opposites.

“No, you can’t! I need you. Seriously. It’s for a very good cause.” Maya’s tone shifted, becoming more earnest. “Look, I’m going to Liam’s party, it’s his birthday in a few hours but he decided to celebrate earlier for New Year’s Eve. You know how I get when I’ve had a few drinks. I need someone who can drive me home when I get wasted and I trust you enough to do that. Please? It’s only for a few hours. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll even buy you that ridiculously expensive coffee maker you’ve been eyeing.”

The coffee maker was a tempting offer. Y/N had been wanting to buy it for months, still, the thought of a crowded, noisy party sent a shiver down her spine. “Maya, you know how uncomfortable I am in those kinds of environments.”

“I know, I know! And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Think of it as a selfless act of friendship or just you stepping out of your comfort zone, pretty please Y/N? With a cherry on top?” Maya begs, desperation in her voice.

Y/N sighed, her usual defenses crumbling under Maya’s determination to make her come. She loved Maya, despite—or perhaps because of—her stubbornness and doing what it takes just to get what she wants. Maya did have a point about needing a ride. The last time Maya had gone to a party without a designated driver, she’d been pulled over due to speeding and ended up traumatizing some bypassers with her singing.

“Fine,” Y/N answered with a sigh, already regretting it. “But I’m not staying long and I’m definitely not socializing.”

“Yes! You’re the best! I’ll pick you up in an hour! Dress cute, but comfortable. You’re my designated driver, not my arm candy.” Maya’s cheerful voice was replaced by a dial tone.

Y/N stared at her phone, a sense of dread settling in. This was her New Year’s Eve plan: chaperone her drunk friend at a party full of strangers. Fantastic.

An hour later, Y/N was reluctantly climbing into Maya’s car, wearing her most un-party-like outfit: dark jeans, a plain long-sleeved shirt, and comfortable sneakers. Maya, on the other hand, was a vision in sequins and glitter, already humming with an excited energy.

“Ready to face the crowd?” Maya chirped, pulling out of Y/N’s driveway.

Y/N offered a weak smile and “As I’ll ever be.”

The drive to Liam’s place felt longer than it was, each block bringing Y/N closer to the inevitable sensory overload that she will feel. When they finally arrived, the house was already vibrating with loud music, visible even from the street as colored lights flashed through the windows. There were people everywhere, laughing and talking loudly.

“Here we go!” Maya exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. She parked the car a few blocks away, making Y/N question her life choices even more.

As they approached the house, the noise intensified. The air was thick with the scent of various perfumes and colognes, mixed with something vaguely alcoholic and sweet. Y/N felt a familiar tightening in her chest. She hates crowds. She hates small talk. She hates loud music that makes it impossible to hear herself think.

Maya, oblivious to Y/N’s internal turmoil, grabbed her hand and dragged her through the group of people at the door. Inside, the house was a kaleidoscope of swaying bodies, flashing lights, and loud noises. Y/N immediately became overwhelmed, her gaze darting around in search of a peaceful nook or relief.

“Okay, plan of action!” Maya shouted over the music, her mouth close to Y/N’s ear. “I’m going to find Liam and say hi, then I’m getting a drink. You… find a couch or a corner and just… exist. I’ll check in on you later. Please do stay safe, don’t accept drinks from strangers okay? If it gets too overwhelming, I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

Maya then pointed at the place mentioned, making the latter feel relieved because it was near her. Y/N then nodded mutely, grateful for her friend’s understanding of her social limitations. She watched as Maya disappeared into the crowd. Left to her own devices, Y/N began her mission: find a couch.

She maneuvered through groups of laughing people, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. The living room was packed, the kitchen was even worse, and the backyard, visible through a sliding glass door, looked like a small music festival. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spotted it: a relatively unoccupied two-seater couch tucked away in a dimly lit corner of what appeared to be a den. It was a haven.

Y/N practically dove onto the couch, pulling out her phone and pretending to be engrossed in it. She scrolled aimlessly. She took a few deep breaths, trying to ground herself. This was fine. She was safe. She had a mission and a comfortable couch.

Time crawled by. Maya had checked in twice, both times looking progressively more disheveled and cheerful. Y/N had successfully avoided eye contact with anyone, perfectly content that she was alone. She was even starting to get used to the muffled thump of the bass.

She was just contemplating whether it was too early to text Maya about leaving when her eyes drifted across the room. Her gaze swept over the usual partygoers – couples dancing too close, groups engaged in conversations, individuals hunched over their phones and then, her gaze averted.

Across the room, leaning against a bookshelf filled with what looked like actual books – a rarity at most parties she’d been dragged to – was someone who immediately stood out. They weren’t shouting or dancing wildly. They were simply… observing.

It was a woman, she had dark hair that framed her face beautifully. She was wearing a stylish yet neutral outfit, a top and trousers, the complete opposite to the flashier clothes everyone was wearing around her. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes, even from this distance, seemed to hold a quiet intensity. She had a serious look on her face and a small furrow in her brow, as if she were deep in thought and not paying any attention to what was going on around her. She held a drink but she hadn't taken a sip in the time Y/N had been watching her.

She had a certain vibe about her, a faint charm that drew her in. She looked lost. She was like Y/N, just observing what was happening around her. 

For a little while, her anxiety subsided. An unusual calmness settled over her and she found herself just observing her. She was simply there, she wasn't loud or demanding of attention and that was very attractive for some reason. Y/N was completely enchanted by the woman across her.

She shifted slightly, her gaze sweeping over the room, and for a moment, her eyes met Y/N’s.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing. Busted. She felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She had been staring. Like a total creep. She ducked her head, pretending to examine a loose thread on her jeans.

When she dared to look up again, the woman was still looking in her direction, a small smile playing on her lips. Her heart did a strange little flutter. She hadn't looked away in disgust or amusement. She smiled.

A small, hesitant thought began to form in Y/N’s mind. Maybe parties weren't so bad after all.

Y/N was uneasy in a way she hadn't expected because of their brief eye contact and the faint smile. She attempted to return to her phone's scrolling, but her eyes kept returning to her. Still there, she leaned against the bookcase and occasionally sipped her drink slowly. She was still standing. She hadn't joined any conversations. She was only watching.

This intrigued her. Most people at parties were actively trying to engage, to be seen, to be heard. She was doing the exact opposite, and it made her stand out even more.

A small part of her wants to approach the mysterious woman but what? Walk up to her and say what? "Hi, I've been silently judging everyone from my couch, and you seem equally bored?" No, that wouldn't do.

She thought about texting Maya for advice but she was probably already very drunk and would push her to do something extremely awkward or embarrassing, like dance on a table.

As she debated her next move, or lack thereof, the woman shifted again. This time, she straightened up, took another slow sip of her drink, and then, to Y/N’s surprise, started to move. Not towards the dance floor, not towards the kitchen, but slowly, purposefully, towards her corner of the room.

Y/N begins to get nervous, heart thumping. Was she coming over here? Was she going to confront her about staring? Her mind raced through a dozen awkward scenarios. She considered pretending to be asleep but that was just ridiculous. She could just… ignore her? No, that was rude.

She stopped a few feet away from Y/N’s couch, her gaze still fixed on her. She had kind eyes, Y/N noticed now, a warm, intelligent brown that crinkled slightly at the corners. There was a gentle curiosity in them.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice low and surprisingly calm amidst the surrounding chaos. It wasn’t a pick-up line. It was a genuine question, almost a shared plea for quiet.

Y/N blinked, momentarily flustered. She hadn’t expected her to speak. “Oh. Uh, no. Not at all.” She scooted over slightly, making more room on the two-seater couch.

The woman nodded in thanks and settled onto the couch beside her, maintaining a comfortable distance. She didn't immediately launch into small talk, which Y/N was immensely grateful for. Instead, she just sat there, taking another sip of her drink, her presence a quiet anchor in the chaotic room.

The silence wasn't awkward. It was… comfortable.

“Quite the party,” she finally said, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. She gestured at the room.

Y/N chuckled softly. “That’s one way to put it. I’m usually not much of a party person, so this is… an experience.”

The woman turned her head slightly, meeting Y/N’s gaze. A genuine smile touched her lips this time, softening her features. “Me neither. I usually prefer a quiet night with a good book or, you know, just not this.” She gestured again, amusement in her eyes.

“A fellow homebody!” Y/N felt a surprising surge of relief. It wasn't just her. “I was dragged here by a friend who needed a driver.”

“Ah, the classic,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I’m here because Liam’s a mutual friend, and well, you know how these New Year’s Eve things are. Hard to say no without offending anyone.”

“Liam?” Y/N repeated. “Maya’s friend Liam?”

“You know Liam?” she asked, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.

“Maya’s my friend,” Y/N explained. “She mentioned Liam a lot.”

“Small world, I guess,” she mused. She extended a hand. “I’m Manon, by the way. Manon Bannerman.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. Manon Bannerman. The name was familiar. Y/N had seen her face on social media, in magazines, as one of the members of the highly anticipated global girl group, KATSEYE. Her mind reeled. Of course she was here. Liam often hosted parties for people in the entertainment industry. Y/N, however, was so far removed from that world that she hadn't even considered it.

“Y/N,” she managed to say, shaking Manon’s hand. Manon’s grip was firm, elegant, and surprisingly gentle. A small jolt, almost electric, passed between them.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Manon said, her smile widening slightly. “So, what kind of books do you usually read when you’re not accompanying your friend?”

The question was so unexpected, so perfectly her, that Y/N found herself smiling genuinely for the first time that night. “Oh, all sorts. Mostly science fiction. Classics, some contemporary, anything with a good plot and interesting characters. You?”

“Pretty much the same,” Manon said, her eyes lighting up. “I’m a big fan of historical fiction, actually. Anything that can transport me to a different time and place.”

They fell into a surprisingly easy conversation, the party noise fading into the background. They talked about books, about their hobbies, anything that comes to mind. Y/N found herself relaxing, the tightness in her chest easing. Manon was easy to talk to, her responses thoughtful, her presence calming. She didn't interrupt, she listened, and her quiet observations mirrored her own.

It was almost uncanny. It felt like talking to a version of herself, but with a different voice and a much more appealing face and it was surreal to be having such a normal conversation with someone who was, to many, a global idol. Manon didn't act like one; she was simply Manon.

The celebration got louder as the evening went on. The atmosphere in the house was approaching an extreme level as the clock struck midnight. However, Y/N and Manon stayed in their peaceful nook, talking.

They found a mutual dislike of overly sugary cocktails, a love of unknown independent films, and an agreement that pajamas were the best party wear. Y/N felt lighter than she usually did in social situations. She didn't feel compelled to act or be someone else when she was around Manon. She didn't have to explain why she was quiet, Manon appeared to get it.

“So, what’s your New Year’s resolution, Y/N?” Manon asked, a mischievous glint in her eye as the music shifted to a more upbeat, countdown-appropriate tune.

Y/N thought about it. "Probably to continue successfully avoiding big gatherings," she laughed. "Unless I am forced into them once more."

Manon chuckled. “That’s unique. Mine is to finally get more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep and maybe finish that personal passion project I keep putting off.”

“Oh? What kind of project?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

Manon hesitated for a moment, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. “It’s… a collection of everything, actually. Mostly about observations from touring and everyday life. Very raw, very personal. Poetry, journal with pictures, unfinished songs, you name it, it’s there.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, genuinely impressed. “I’d love to read it sometime, if you ever decide to share it.”

Manon’s gaze met hers, and for a moment, the air crackled with a silent understanding, a hint of something more. “Maybe I will,” she said, her voice a little softer.

Suddenly, Liam’s booming voice cut through the party. “Alright everyone! Ten minutes to midnight! Head out to the back! The fireworks display is about to start!”

A cheer erupted, and the already dense crowd began to move toward the back of the home and into the backyard. Y/N instinctively tensed, feeling the familiar claustrophobia begin to creep in. She glanced at Manon, expecting to see a similar unease. Instead, Manon simply offered a small, understanding smile.

“Want to try and find a less crowded spot?” Manon suggested, her voice calm. “There’s usually a little patch of grass by the far fence. We might get a decent view there.”

Y/N felt a wave of relief. “That sounds… perfect.”

In search of the place Manon mentioned, they cautiously made their way through the ecstatic crowd. A sea of faces, heads cocked upward, and an atmosphere of anticipation filled the lawn. Outside, the sky felt wide and open, yet the music inside was still deafening.

They found the spot, a small, relatively unpopulated patch near a tall hedge, far enough from the main crowd but still offering a clear view of the sky. The air here was cooler, fresher, and the crowd felt more distant, less overwhelming.

The first explosion burst into the pitch-black darkness as they had just taken their place. Before exploding into a kaleidoscope of breathtaking red and gold, it flew upward as a slender, blazing streak. The crowd let out a collective gasp and then cheered.

Y/N watched, fascinated. It had been years since she'd seen fireworks up close. Beside her, Manon leaned back slightly, her head tilted, her profile illuminated by the flashing lights. Y/N glanced at her, catching a glimpse of the joy on Manon's face in that brief moment, a soft, awe-struck expression that was both beautiful and vulnerable. It was a look Y/N rarely saw on people, a genuine appreciation for something simple and grand.

Another firework exploded, releasing a spray of glistening silver that resembled weeping willow branches. The audience gave a louder cheer.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Manon murmured, her voice soft, almost lost in the boom and crackle, but Y/N heard it perfectly.

“They really are,” Y/N agreed, her gaze still fixed on the sky but feeling a strange, new warmth bloom in her chest. She wasn't just watching fireworks; she was sharing this moment, this quiet awe, with someone who felt it just as deeply as she did. It was a connection that felt almost… magical. Almost enchanting.

Her gaze then averted towards the woman beside her, studying her features with a soft smile on her face. Manon, sensing that she was staring at her, met her gaze. They looked at each other in the eyes before Manon laughed, ignoring the way her cheeks flushed. 

“I know where this is going, you’re going to call me beautiful now, aren’t you?” the latter jokes, coughing a little to cover her embarrassment. She didn’t know why Y/N staring at her made her shy, she’s so used to people staring at her but Y/N’s was different. Way different.

“Well, you do look beautiful.”

Before Manon could even reply, another explosion of fireworks erupted, interrupting their moment. Y/N found herself instinctively leaning closer to Manon. Manon didn't pull away. In fact, Y/N felt her shift closer.

The superstar doesn't know what to say after Y/N dropped the compliment. It sounded really genuine. She couldn't help but blush, however, she tried her best not to show it.

Suddenly, Maya appeared, weaving through the crowd, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes bright with alcohol and excitement. She spotted Y/N and Manon on the couch and her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in a playful, knowing way.

“Y/N! There you are! And who is this gorgeous person you’ve been hiding from me?!” Maya slurred, leaning heavily on Manon’s shoulder.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush again, a different kind of flush this time, a mix of embarrassment and something else she couldn't quite name. “Maya, this is Manon. Manon, this is Maya, the friend who dragged me here.”

Manon, ever the calm one, offered Maya a polite, amused smile. “Nice to meet you, Maya.”

“Oh, darling, it’s New Year’s Eve, it’s lovely to meet everyone!” Maya giggled, then suddenly clapped her hands together. “It’s almost midnight! We need to find Liam and do the countdown!”

She tugged on Y/N’s arm. Y/N looked at Manon, a silent apology in her eyes.

“It was really nice meeting you, Manon,” Y/N said, a genuine regret in her voice. She didn't want the conversation to end.

“You too, Y/N,” Manon replied, her gaze lingering on hers. “Happy New Year.”

Maya, impatient, finally managed to pull Y/N to her feet. As they were swept away by the current of people heading towards the main living room, Y/N glanced back. Manon was still sitting on the couch, watching them go, a thoughtful expression on her face. She lifted her hand in a small, almost imperceptible wave. Y/N returned it, a shy smile on her face.

The countdown was a blur of shouting, confetti, and the taste of cheap champagne. Maya shrieked with delight as the clock struck midnight, pulling Y/N into a tight, slightly damp hug. Everyone around them was hugging, kissing, wishing each other well. Y/N, however, felt a strange sense of detachment. Her mind kept drifting back to the quiet corner, to the shared laughter and easy conversation with Manon, and the silent, shared moments under the exploding sky.

As soon as she could, Y/N quickly pulled herself away from the noisy crowd. “Maya,” she said, her voice firm, “I think it’s time to go home. You’ve had enough.”

Maya, surprisingly, didn’t argue. She swayed a little, giggled, and then nodded. “Okay, Y/N. Your duties are finally fulfilled. Lead the way.”

It was as difficult to navigate out of the party as it was to enter. Now, people were even more uncontrolled, dancing in spontaneous circles and pouring drinks. Y/N kept an eye out for Manon, but the living room was too crowded, too dark, too full of moving bodies to spot her. A small pang of disappointment settled in her chest. She hadn’t even thought to ask for her number. What a rookie mistake.

Outside, the cool night air was a welcome relief. Y/N helped a stumbling Maya into the passenger seat, then got behind the wheel. The streets were surprisingly busy, even at this hour, with people still heading to and from parties.

“That was… something,” Maya mumbled, already half-asleep.

“It certainly was,” Y/N agreed, a smile on her face. She thought of Manon, the fireworks still seemed to echo in her mind, not just the ones in the sky, but the ones she felt inside her.

A little, square piece of paper dropped from Maya's sequined handbag and landed on the dashboard as she was driving. When Y/N took a quick look at it, her heart leaped. It was a card. With just a name and a brief, handwritten note on the back.

Manon Bannerman

On the back, “I’d like to know you more, call me and maybe I'll show you that collection of mine.” was written.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She picked up the card, her fingers tracing the elegant script. A wave of warmth spread through her. She had given it to Maya to give to her. She had thought of her. A genuine smile bloomed on Y/N’s face, a smile that reached her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, New Year’s Eve parties weren't so bad after all because sometimes, in the most unexpected of places, you’d meet the most unexpected people. People who you can share a connection with.

She carefully tucked the card into her wallet, a sense of anticipation bubbling within her. The new year had just begun, and it was already full of unexpected possibilities. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt genuinely excited about what the future might hold and it all started with a quiet moment on a couch, a shared aversion to parties, and a captivating stranger with kind eyes, who happened to be Manon Bannerman.

a/n: I feel like I could have done better with this. I'm not satisfied and I do apologize if there are errors. I lost my motivation to write. Oh well, things happen in life. Thank you for giving this a read! I'll try to make a better one next time.

[thatonegrimm]

🌙 Saja Boys – Drabbles # 7

🧿 Jinu – “He Braids Derpy’s Fur When He’s Nervous”

You find him on the back porch, kneeling beside Derpy in the late afternoon light.

She’s still as a statue, eyes half-lidded as Jinu gently threads sections of her fur into loose, uneven braids.

You lean against the doorframe. “So this is how you cope?”

He startles. “She likes it.”

Derpy thumps her tail once. In agreement. Or protest. You’re not sure.

You walk over and sit beside him, watching the braids multiply.

“How bad is it?”

Jinu exhales. “We’re still getting interference from whatever crossed the seal last week. Abby says it’s nothing. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

You don’t say anything.

You just reach out, take a handful of fur, and start braiding too.

His hand brushes yours.

He doesn’t pull away.

💪 Abby – “He Catches You”

It’s not a huge fall.

Just a trip over a demon root knot in the training field. You’re bracing for impact, already wincing—

—and then you’re not falling.

Because Abby catches you one-handed like it’s nothing.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just stands there, hands on your waist, eyebrows lifted.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

He nods back. Doesn’t let go.

“Abby,” you murmur. “You can let me up.”

“I could,” he says. “But you’re not asking.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t move.

And neither does he.

📚 Mystery – “The Shadows Like You”

You’re walking through the hallway when the lights flicker.

Not out—just dim, like they’re adjusting for something. Or someone.

You stop moving.

So do your footsteps.

That’s the first sign.

You turn. No one there.

Then Mystery speaks from behind you—so close you feel the echo in your ribs.

“They do that when you’re near.”

You don’t scream. Barely.

“The lights?”

He shakes his head. “The shadows. They… like you.”

You stare.

He tilts his head. “You don’t like them back?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to like them.”

He steps into the hallway, and the lights flicker again.

“Now they’re sulking.”

You have no idea if he’s joking. That’s the second sign.

💋 Romance – “He Keeps Score”

You don’t realize it’s a game until it’s too late.

The subtle touches. The flirty comments. The way he leans just a little closer when you’re tired or distracted.

One night you poke his chest and say, “Keep that up and I’ll win.”

He arches a brow. “Oh, you think we’re keeping score?”

You falter. “Aren’t we?”

He just smiles.

And the next morning, there’s a note on your coffee cup:

“Romance – 17 / You – 1

You crumple the note and throw it at him.

He catches it. Adds a tally mark.

🔥 Baby – “He Doesn’t Say Goodnight”

It’s a pattern.

He stays up later than everyone. Stares at the fridge like it wronged him. Eats spicy ramen at 2 a.m. Watches static-heavy dramas no one else remembers.

You always say, “Goodnight.”

He never says it back.

Not once.

One night you ask, “Why don’t you ever answer?”

He glances up from his bowl. Doesn’t flinch.

“Because it sounds like an ending,” he says.

You sit beside him, barefoot on cold tile, and don’t say anything for a while.

When you finally stand, you don’t say it either.

He watches you go.

And when you’re out of earshot, he whispers:

“Sleep safe.”

M-List

Taglist: @honey-and-sweetdreams

[so-i-did-this-thing]

I saw your answer to the person going to college soon and really appreciated what you wrote. But I wanted to propose a counterpoint to what you said about credit cards. Unfortunately, the US is based on credit and if you ever need to get a loan for a house or a car, having an established history of good credit means you will be able to get better rates or even get a loan at all. One way to have good credit is to have a credit limit available and paying any charges off in full every month. So if you can, get a credit card with no fees (usually you can get one through your bank) and treat it like a debit card. Only spend money you actually have in your account and pay it off at least once a month. You can even set up auto pay if you’re worried about forgetting. But the important thing is to only ever spend the money you currently have. Not money you will have tomorrow or next week or later today. Right now. Paying off your credit card in full each time shows lenders that you can be trusted. Even if you put just one small charge a month on the credit card, having a credit limit and paying off the monthly bill is important.

This makes sense logically, but one has to be brutally honest with their spending tendencies, and the "just once won't hurt" slippery slope. Throw in all the other stresses of college and it's a recipe for disaster for most people.

For a first card, you can build credit with a secured card or one with a very small limit, until you work out what kind of credit card user you actually are. But even then, tread with extreme caution and the full humility that you will not be as financially clever/responsible as you think you will be. Don't fear credit, but be aware of the dangers that come with poor budgeting.

A college student does not need a card with a big limit and very often not a card at all. A college student going in with a fixed income such as a financial aid stipend and no paychecks should pass on a card until they have some sort of regular inflow of money. Credit card companies are inherently predatory, no matter how enticing their cashback/points programs seem.

I am speaking from very brutal experience, both in myself and others. Too many people in hindsight admit they didn't have the financial literacy in college to understand the ramifications of their student loans, and credit cards are just an extension of that. Most Americans carry pretty bad unsecured debt.

When in doubt, just wait to get a card. Err on the side of caution because those 4 years of credit history are not worth it if you don't have experience budgeting or don't have the backup income to treat cards like debit. As for budgeting, learning a "zero/every dollar" or "envelope" system is a great way to see where your money goes and builds good habits.

Your credit report doesn't track payments per se -- it tracks if a payment was *missed* and how late it was (30/60/90 days). That is a very important distinction. You need to use a card less than you think for a good credit score.

You do not need to regularly use the card or carry a balance to build credit -- you need an active account with a good debt-to-income ratio. Yes, to be an active account, the card will need some semi-regular use.

If you want to start an early credit history (you expect to rent a home/apartment right out of college), again, get that $100 low-limit card, stick your Netflix sub on it, then lock it away. Don't put bigger expenses on a card and don't apply for limit increases until you figure out your budget and habits. Get in the habit of requesting and reviewing your annual credit report from the Big 3 credit bureaus - Equifax, Experian, and TransUnion.

Also, as long as you have 100% on-time payments, low inquires, no derogatory remarks, no new credit lines in the past year, and a good debt-to-income ratio, the age of your credit is not that big a factor for loan worthiness - I got a home loan at age 46 with a rebooted credit age of less than 4 years. (I destroyed my credit when younger and lived debit/cash-only from 2008-2019 and got approved for a $350k house in 2023 with the 800 credit score I managed to build in a short time.)

Tldr; I feel it necessary to be honest with a typical 18 year old's financial literacy. Good credit habits begin with good budgeting and that credit card company with their little booth of swag in the student union does not have your future homeownership worthiness in mind. I obviously have a nuanced opinion, but my gut advice is going to continue to be "it's rarely a good idea to get a credit card right out of the gate".

[buckyseternaldoll]

𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓵𝓼

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is determined to spoil you for your birthday with tender care, teasing banter, and a night full of love and heat you won’t forget.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), suggestive content, explicit language, heated make-out sessions, massage kink vibes, references to sex (no graphic detail), lots of loving dirty talk, Bucky Barnes being the most attentive boyfriend ever, potentially a bit too self indulgent

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: It's my birthday (in GMT+8)! July 7th, to be exact. This was originally slated to be full blown smut but I think it would kill the birthday vibes. So yeah. Happy birthday to me 🎂🎉

It’s Sunday. Quiet. The kind of quiet you needed.

Especially before your birthday.

The week had been brutal—performance reviews swallowing every ounce of your patience and energy. By Saturday, you were knee-deep in chores you’d neglected all week: scrubbing floors, changing linens, wrestling the curtains down for a much-needed wash. By the time you collapsed that night, you’d sworn you wouldn’t move a muscle on Sunday.

Bucky knew. He’d seen it in your eyes the second he got back from his mission late Saturday night—how tired you were. How much you needed to just stop.

So when morning came, he made sure you didn’t lift a finger. Breakfast in bed: two soft-boiled eggs, one slice of toast (slightly burnt on one edge, which he sheepishly apologized for), and matcha he whisked himself.

You let out a soft laugh when you saw the toast. “You didn’t have to go this far, Buck.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the tray. “I burned the first one worse.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, voice catching. “Really. I don’t deserve you.”

He snorted at that, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Stop. You deserve the world. Now eat before it gets cold.”

You tried to protest when he reached for the cup to help you sip. “I can do that—”

“Nope,” he said firmly. “Today you’re not doing anything.”

Your chest tightened a little. “Bucky… you just got back last night. You should be resting too. I feel bad.”

He shook his head immediately, eyes soft but resolute. “Don’t, baby. Don’t you dare. I’d do this a thousand times for you.” He paused, then smirked just a little. “Anything for my queen.”

Your face went hot. You made a noise of protest, burying your face in the pillow, and he laughed, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Admit it. You like when I call you that.”

You refused to answer, only making him chuckle more.

—

He insisted on helping you to the bath, carrying you carefully like you weighed nothing at all, lowering you into the warm water he’d drawn with that unreasonably serious look of concentration he got when he wanted things perfect. He washed you so gently you felt like you were going to melt right there in his hands.

But he wasn’t done.

He had another surprise waiting once you were warm and clean. You watched, half-amused and half-touched, as he dragged out the air mattress you only ever used for guests (and rarely, at that). He spread it on the living room floor, lit candles, and set out bottles of aromatherapy oils he’d picked himself.

You raised an eyebrow at the setup. “What exactly are you planning?”

He crooked a finger at you with that little smirk—inviting you over. “Massage session. Courtesy of Sergeant Barnes.”

Your pulse jumped. “You really don’t have to—”

“Hush,” he said, voice going low in that way that always sent heat curling in your stomach. “I said today you don’t do anything. Except relax. Let me take care of you.”

After all, if Bucky Barnes was determined to spoil you before your birthday, you weren’t about to argue. Especially not when his hands were so good at making you forget everything else.

—

You watched him drizzle oil into his palms, rubbing them together to warm it. His eyes flicked up to meet yours with that practiced, wicked grin.

“Ready?”

You propped yourself on your elbows, giving him an overly innocent look. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Sergeant.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the way he smirked before he gently pushed you back down onto your stomach.

“Just relax for me, okay?” he murmured, voice soft but commanding. “I want you limp and useless by the time I’m done.”

You snorted. “Charming.”

But you went quiet when his hands closed around your calves—one warm, the other cool with the faint metallic edge of vibranium. The contrast made you shiver even before he started working, his thumbs pressing firmly but precisely into the tense muscle. He adjusted the pressure so perfectly that the metal hand didn’t overpower, both matching each other with practiced ease.

You sighed so deeply it almost sounded like a moan.

“Mmm—shit, that’s good.”

“Language,” he scolded lightly, though you felt him grin against your leg as he leaned in to kiss the back of your knee.

He moved slowly, deliberately, drawing circles over your calves with that careful coordination between warm flesh and smooth vibranium. When he switched to your thighs, the cool metal sent goosebumps up your skin, while his other hand kept you anchored in heat.

You squirmed a little when he hit a particularly tight spot, letting out a high, shaky sound.

“Oh god—there—right there.”

“Easy, doll,” he drawled, voice dark with amusement. “You’re gonna make me think I’m better at this than I am.”

You huffed out a laugh even as your breath hitched. “You are. You’re annoyingly good at this.”

His fingers paused just long enough for him to chuckle low. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You let out another muffled moan when his vibranium thumb pressed into the knot perfectly. “Bet that hand’s real talented at other things too…”

He went still for a beat, then huffed an incredulous laugh. “Jesus. You really want your present early, huh?”

You buried your face in the pillow to hide your grin. “Can’t blame me if you’re this good with your fingers.”

He let out a husky laugh, fingers flexing deliberately against your calves. “Compliments will get you everywhere, you know.”

You shivered when he moved to your other leg, taking the same slow care, the cool vibranium hand balancing perfectly with the heat of his flesh. His thumbs kneaded deep until the muscle stopped twitching, leaving your legs heavy and slack against the mattress.

Your eyelids fluttered, voice coming out breathy. “Mmm… fuck, Buck… you’re gonna ruin me before tonight.”

“Good,” he said, deadpan, though you could hear the grin in his voice. “That’s the plan.”

You let out a sleepy laugh, cut off by a gasp as his hands slid higher, spreading warm oil over your thighs. The vibranium hand felt cool in maddening contrast, gliding along the outer line of your leg while his other thumb pressed hard enough into your inner thigh to make you jerk slightly.

“Jesus—warn a girl,” you hissed, biting back another moan.

“Warn you? Where’s the fun in that?” He pressed another firm circle into the tense muscle. “Relax, baby. I’m just getting started.”

Your breath hitched, and you squirmed a little. “Bet you say that in bed too.”

He chuckled darkly, voice dropping lower. “I do. And you love it.”

He worked steadily up to your hips, thumbs digging in to release tension that made your spine arch. You whimpered, hips rocking slightly against the mattress.

“Fuck—right there, Bucky. God.”

He paused, leaning in so you could feel his smirk ghosting against your ear. “I know. I know exactly where you like it.”

You groaned something incoherent into the pillow, body going limp as he rubbed slow, firm circles along your hips before smoothing his hands up to your lower back.

This was where he got serious. He braced his vibranium hand for support while his warm flesh hand worked deep into the knotted muscles at the base of your spine. When he pressed in hard, a sharper whimper tore from you.

He stilled immediately. “Whoa—hey. That too much?”

You let out a ragged breath, voice cracking. “Fuck—hurts. But good. Just—”

His teasing faded, replaced by concern. “Look at me,” he murmured, voice low. “You okay?”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, but nodded into the pillow. “Yeah. Just… sore. Don’t stop. Please.”

He exhaled, pressing a careful kiss to your lower back. “Tell me if it’s too much. I mean it.”

You let out another small, pained noise as he started again, but his touch was more careful. He alternated pressure, testing and easing off where you were too tight, making sure you got relief without flinching.

“Fuck… that’s better,” you mumbled, voice going slurred. “God—you’re so good at this.”

“Yeah?” His voice went a little smug, though it was gentler now. “Told you. Years of practice. Got my technique down.”

You snorted weakly. “Sure. Must be the same technique you use for fingering me.”

He huffed a short laugh, but his fingers didn’t falter. “You’re a menace.”

“Mhm… your fault…”

He worked steadily up your back, following every ridge of your spine, alternating warm and cool. When he reached your shoulders, he felt the bunched, brutal knots from all the hours you spent at your desk.

You winced when he pressed in. “Ah—shit—Bucky—more. Don’t go easy.”

He blinked, fingers stilling. “You sure?”

“Yes. Harder. Normal won’t do anything.”

“Baby…” He let out a low whistle. “Okay. Brace yourself.”

He dug in slowly but firmly, pressing with controlled force until you gasped—half in relief, half in pain.

“Fuuuck, Buck… yes. That’s it. Don’t stop.”

“Language, sweetheart,” he scolded gently, though his thumbs obeyed, grinding into the knots until they started to give way.

You whimpered again, voice cracking. “You’re cruel… saving this for last…”

“Always,” he murmured, voice dark with promise. “Gotta make sure you remember who takes care of you.”

Your breath was getting ragged but slower, sleep pulling at you. “I won’t forget… fuck… you’re gonna wreck me tonight, huh?”

He let out a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. But for now? Sleep. Let me finish.”

Your only answer was a soft, broken sigh as your breathing evened out.

Bucky watched you for a moment, his smile turning tender. Then he kept going—slow, steady, warm and cool—working every last knot free until you melted under him completely.

—

You woke slowly, blinking blearily at the soft glow of dusky orange flooding the room. The afternoon sun had slipped away while you slept, leaving the apartment bathed in the gentle light of early evening.

For a moment you just lay there, face buried in the pillow, utterly boneless. It felt like you’d melted into the mattress itself. Your shoulders didn’t ache. Your head wasn’t pounding. Every tight knot and buzzing nerve had been replaced by loose, sleepy warmth.

You stretched a little and let out a contented groan. God, that sleep was incredible.

All thanks to your absurdly attentive boyfriend—who was, apparently, good at everything.

Okay, maybe not everything. You remembered the toast from this morning and snorted quietly into the pillow. The man could disarm bombs with a glare but still managed to burn bread when all he had to do was press a lever.

You shifted, rolling lazily onto your side. That was when you caught him watching you from the armchair, a lopsided grin playing on his lips.

He rested his forearms on his knees, voice smooth and just a touch old-fashioned as he drawled, “Well, had yourself a fine slumber, my queen?”

You couldn’t help it—you broke into a slow, sappy smile, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Yeah. Best sleep I’ve had in months.”

He made an exaggeratedly wounded frown, shoulders rolling in a dramatic little shrug. “Huh. That so? Because—if memory serves—you said the same thing after I fucked you stupid hard last month you couldn’t stand straight.”

Your face went instantly hot. “Bucky!”

He just raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What? I’m simply quoting you.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love it,” he said smugly, getting up and leaning over to press a lingering kiss to your temple.

You finally sat up, stretching your arms above your head, taking another grateful breath. “God, Buck… seriously. Thank you.”

“Anytime, doll,” he murmured, voice lower now, full of something softer than teasing. “Anytime.”

Eventually you managed to peel yourself off the mattress and shuffle over to the dining table, where dinner was already laid out. The lamps were on, giving everything a warm glow, and you could smell garlic and cream even before you sat down.

You blinked at the plates. “Is this… marry me chicken?”

He gave you an innocent look. “Might be.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock suspicion. “Is this some kind of not-so-subtle proposal?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Well… I was actually proposing to the chicken.”

You nearly choked on a laugh. “Oh my god.”

He shrugged with grand dignity. “Very fine specimen. Delicious. Very marriageable.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling as you picked up your fork. “You’re an idiot.”

“Mm. Your idiot,” he reminded you, leaning over to steal a kiss before sitting across from you, eyes dancing.

And you just sat there for a moment, smiling like a fool, thinking that for all the chaos in your life, this was the easiest, happiest place to be.

—

Dinner ended with the two of you lingering at the table, forks abandoned, plates pushed aside, Bucky’s eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.

You felt it before he even moved—the heat in the room shifting, getting thicker, heavier. His thumb brushed over his lower lip absently, but his gaze never left yours.

When you finally stood, pushing your chair back, he rose too—slowly, deliberately.

You swallowed. “So… dessert?”

He tilted his head slightly, metal fingers tapping the table. “Mm. Dessert’s in the bedroom, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught. He didn’t say it lewdly. He said it softly. Like a promise.

You felt the goosebumps break over your skin.

He offered his hand and you took it, heart pounding. He led you through the dim apartment, only the glow of the streetlights and the warm lamps making your path golden. When you reached the bedroom, he paused, letting you go just long enough to close the door behind you both.

Then his hands were on you.

Not rough. Not hurried. But hungry.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting all week—hell, maybe all his life—to be right here with you. His lips moved over yours with that mix of slow heat and impatience only he could manage. You felt him sigh into your mouth when you kissed him back just as desperately.

His vibranium hand cradled your jaw, cool and unyielding, while his warm flesh hand slid up your back, pressing you flush to him. You whimpered into the kiss, fingers clutching at his shirt, and he chuckled darkly.

“There she is,” he rasped against your lips. “My needy birthday girl.”

You let out a shaky laugh, shoving at his chest playfully even as you shivered. “Shut up and spoil me, Barnes.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

He didn’t rush undressing you, but he also didn’t exactly take his time. He peeled your clothes away like he needed to see you, to have you bared for him, muttering low praises against your skin with every new inch revealed.

“Look at you. Fuck… you’re gorgeous. Always so fucking gorgeous.”

You let him undress you fully before you returned the favor, pulling his shirt over his head, running your palms over the hard planes of his chest. The heat between you was molten now, every touch an electric shock.

When you traced your fingers down to his belt, he let out a tight exhale, grabbing your wrist gently.

“You sure you want this tonight? You’re tired. I can wait.”

Your chest went tight. God.

You shook your head, eyes stinging just a little with how much you loved him. “I want you. Please, Buck.”

His eyes softened, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Alright. Birthday girl gets anything she wants.”

He kissed you again, slow and consuming, guiding you back until your legs hit the edge of the bed. He lowered you carefully onto the mattress, crawling over you like a man who worshipped every part of you.

He took his time exploring you with his mouth and hands, learning all over again the places that made you squirm and sigh. His vibranium fingers felt cool on your heated skin, tracing along your ribs, your hip, your thigh, making you arch.

“Jesus,” you breathed, biting your lip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He huffed a laugh, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. “Not planning on it. Gotta keep you alive so I can do this for the rest of our lives.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh that dissolved into a moan when his teeth grazed your neck.

When he finally, finally pressed himself against you fully, rocking slow, you gasped his name, clutching at his back, nails digging just enough to make him grunt in approval.

“Fuck—Bucky…”

“I know,” he whispered, voice shaking with restraint. “I know, baby. I’ve got you. Just hold onto me.”

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. He moved with you like he was savoring every second, every twitch, every needy sound you made. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how you were the only thing that mattered.

And when you whimpered his name like a prayer, legs tightening around his waist, he kissed your temple and promised you everything.

“I’ve got you. Always. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Later, you lay tangled together in the quiet after, the sound of your breathing slowly settling. He pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair, pressing lazy kisses to your forehead while you drifted.

“Love you,” you mumbled sleepily.

He squeezed you tighter. “Love you more, baby. Happy birthday.”

—

Later, as the room settled into quiet, you lay draped over his chest, both of you breathing slow and deep. His fingers traced lazy circles over your shoulder, the vibranium hand cool and reassuring against your back.

You let out a tiny, content sigh, nuzzling closer. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He huffed a soft laugh, shifting just enough to press a kiss to your hair. “For what?”

“For… everything. Today. For spoiling me so much.” Your voice wavered a little, thick with sleepy emotion. “You’re the one who just got back from a mission. You’re probably more exhausted than me.”

His hand stilled, squeezing you gently. “Hey.” He tilted your chin up so you had to look at him, even in the low glow of the lamp. His eyes were serious, steady. “Don’t apologize for letting me take care of you.”

You bit your lip, blinking back tears you didn’t quite understand. “I just… I feel so lucky. That you love me like this.”

He shook his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Lucky?” His mouth twitched into that lopsided grin. “Baby, I’d do this every damn day if you’d let me. Doesn’t have to be your birthday. Hell, I’ll invent holidays just for an excuse to spoil you rotten.”

Your breath hitched in a little laugh, tears finally slipping free. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” He kissed the tears away, one by one. “But you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice cracking as you smiled. “I really do.”

“Good,” he murmured back, voice rough with feeling. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He leaned in and kissed you deeply—slow and certain, like he was sealing a promise with your lips. You melted into it completely, letting his warmth, his scent, his love wrap around you until nothing else existed.

When you finally pulled back for breath, you rested your forehead against his, your voice no more than a sleepy mumble.

“Best birthday ever.”

He grinned against your mouth. “Damn right it was.”

And with one last kiss, you both let your eyes flutter shut, tangled together in the quiet certainty that there was nowhere else in the world either of you would rather be.

[chevxyn]

media's gaze — with itoshi sae.

syp; as the u-20 vs blue lock 11 game ended, you went to seek your friend— only to bump into a guy that the media came for.

mature language.

the game had ended around 15 minutes ago and the score resulted in 3-4, you went to find your way to meet your close friend to congratulate and to talk to him as he had called you.

as you walked around the stadium trying to find their locker room, you got lost— well, by the looks of it you’re at the merchandise area.

not losing hope, you kept walking as you checked your phone incase he answered, until you hit something hard, stumbling back.

the object, well, the person you bumped into looked behind and looked at you, almost immediately you gave a small bow and apologised.

“i’m so sorry! it’s my fault, i was looking at my phone and—“ you got cut off as the person spoke out, “it’s fine.” his voice had a cold undertone but you can make out that it’s a guy.

as you straighten your body, you could recognize that face— as it is hard to not know the one that is plastered on posters and standees in the stadium, itoshi sae.

now, you could’ve just run along— but you’re lost and he’s a player, no doubt he’d know the location of your friend right?

so you took a breath— opened your mouth, until his voice came out first, “sorry, i don’t do autographs or photos.” and you froze.

oh. oh!

your eye twitched and you nodded, “oh-kay.” you managed to let out, as he was about to leave when your voice finally came through.

“do you by chance know where the blue lock locker room is?” and he raised his eyebrow, “and you’re looking for it because?”

“i need to find a friend, his name is rin.” you said and he was silent a couple of seconds, and then you realized— right, it’s his brother.

after the 7 seconds of silence, you really just wanna leave now to cut the embarrassment, unfortunately— before you could, his voice had to cut you off once again, “you know rin?” he asked.

“he’s my close friend, we’ve been friends for a while.” he lightly squinted his eyes at the mention of you and rin close friends— considering he never saw the two of you together, staring at you up and down as if he’s judging you.

your gaze faltered slightly and you slowly let out a chuckle, this is so fucking awkward.

“turn left from here, there’s should be a hallway that players can go through to go to the pitch.” he suddenly spoke out, “first door, on the right. that’s where they are.”

oh.

you nodded and gave a respectful smile, “okay— thank you, uh— sae itoshi.” you said, but before you could go, he held you back once more.

“give me your number.” he said suddenly, his tone demanding— indicating it was not a request.

eh?— did he just, say what you think he said?

“why?” your curiosity got the head of you and he let out a small hum, “reasons, but not the ones you’re thinking.”

“i’m not interested in you.” he made it clear, and you nodded— “question still stands, why?” you raised your eyebrow, there is no way you’re gonna give him your number without a solid reason.

there’s some people that’s starting to realize sae is there and he sighed deeply, before he took out his business card and gave it to you.

“just to keep me updated with rin,” he said and you almost cringed, “why don’t you just go and talk to hi—“ and he started walking away.

what an asshole, you checked his business card that’s really just a card with his name and number— nothing else.

suddenly a text message came, from rin. “sorry [nickname], it’s near the hallway of the pitch area, i’ll wait for you in front of the room.”

after thinking about it while walking, fine. you’ll talk to sae considering you did had to hear rin rant to you the moment his dear brother fought with him in that snowy day.

and considering what you saw earlier in the field and how rin looked disappointed when sae said something, you might be a bad friend doing this.

but atleast you can help them to maybe lighten up with eachother eventually — besides even if the two of you do interact, you and him would not cross the line of just being acquaintances. right?

back to collection.

©chevxyn

[martindubuque]

I agree to a degree, Ai panic is often overblown, we should also give Ai another year or two to make sure we're not wasting our breath talking about the current metaverse or NFTs. Genuinely, what uses does this current generation of Ai even have beyond "customer service email" and "bad F2P Game stock art", and don't give me that junk about cancer detection because that's a whole other thing that existed way before this current Ai. The issue with a machine being trained off of all artist's work is that it's building a "tool" that can then be used to replace all artists, all the time, everywhere. I think people have a right to be mad about that, about their labor being stolen and then regurgitated by every corpo known to man, 24/7. If we lived in a socialist world this would be no big deal, but the fact that you, a leftist, brush this specific theft from labor aside is absolutely baffling, given they're the ones at the forefront of being replaced.

The poisoning of public sentiment towards Ai seems to be working somewhat, given how cautious certain corpos are in regards to Ai. That's really all we can do, to at least help artists and similar labor in similar positions from getting fired in droves. Also important to note how many Ai lawsuits are going in Ai's favor in regards to fair use, so I have my doubts about copyright being tightened. That being said, it is definitely a risk and wrong to cheer on the Mouse. Better to just view it as two monsters duking it out, knowing ultimately you'll likely to lose, but at least one will be worse for wear. If we really want a "leftist view of Ai", let's be honest about what Ai can actually do, what is "Ai" and what is actually useful ML. Right now the former is dominating all oxygen and financing thanks to conmen desperately trying to sell their next big thing by making false sales pitches about their product. This isn't automation that will actually help any of us in a socialist context, it's just shiny crap that barely works, useful only in a capitalist context so execs can do mass layoffs and replace them with a vastly inferior thing. Another cog for the slop machine! At least when a person was doing it they were getting paid scraps. The techbro right wants to make a big Ai daddy that will bring upon us a utopia by solving all our problems, do you actually believe them? That this will actually do that? Of course you don't. But yes, many of the anti-ai arguments don't hold much water, in the same way many pro-ai arguments don't hold any either. Fact is, Ai right now is being built by conmen, so it doesn't really do anything, once they evaporate real "Ai" can actually be explored or rather continued to be explored before the insane execs took over. I don't hate Ai because it commits copyright infringement, I hate Ai because it's being built by corporations off the backs of artists, who will promptly be thrown to the streets, replaced by an omni-present tool they non-consensually helped build.

Honestly, maybe I'm the uninformed one here, because like I said while I agree with you that the Ai panic is overblown, the rest of what you've said I do not get really. Did you watch that poorly researched Avila video too? Edit: I'm also curious about your statement about Ai performing tasks better and the "neo-conservative" thing about the soul. Are you actually referring to Ai art in this instance? That is nuts to say. Ai art is often soulless in the same way a lot of real art by real artists is soulless, technical ability does not equal "quality" when it has nothing to say. I'll even go a step further and say Ai art's hyper-polished work is almost fascist in it's appeal, Ai art is the antonymic answer to the Nazi idea of "degenerate art".

Worst part of popular left wing AI discourse online is that there's absolutely a need for a robust leftist opposition to use of cognitive automation without social dispensation to displaced human workers. The lack of any prior measures to facilitate a transition to having fewer humans in the workplace (UBI, more public control over industrial infrastructure, etc) is a disaster we are sleepwalking into - one that could lock the majority of our society's wealth further into the hands of authoritarian oligarchs who retain control of industry through last century private ownership models, while no longer needing to rely on us to operate their property.

But now we're seemingly not going to have the opposition we so desperately need, because everyone involved in the anti-AI conversation has pretty thoroughly discredited themselves and their movement by harbouring unconstrained reactionary nonsense, blatant falsehoods and woo. Instead of talking about who owns and benefits from cognitive automation, people are:

Demanding impossibilities like uninventing a now readily accessible technology

Trying to ascribe implicit moral value to said technology instead of the who is using it and how

Siding with corporations on copyright law in the name of "defending small artists"

Repeating obvious and embarrassing technical misconceptions and erroneous pop-sci about machine learning in order to justify their preferred philosophy

Invoking neo-spiritual conservative woo about the specialness of the human soul to try to incoherently discredit a machine that can quite obviously perform certain tasks just as well if not better than they can

Misrepresent numbers about energy use and environmental cost in an absurd double standard (all modern infrastructure is reliant on data centers to a similar level of impact, including your favourite fandom social media and online video games!) to build a narrative AI is some sort of malevolent spirit that damages our reality when it is called upon

It's a level of reactionary ignorance that has completely discredited any popular opposition to industrial AI rollout because it falls apart as soon as you dig deeper than a snappy social media post, or a misguided pro-copyright screed from an insecure web artist (who decries a machine laying eyes on their freely posted work while simultaneously charging commission for fan-art of corporate IPs... I'm sure that will absolutely resolve in their favour).

It would be funny how much people are fucking themselves over with all this, except I'm being fucked over to, and as a result am really quite mad about the situation. We need UBI, we need to liberate abundance from corporate greed, what we don't need is viral posts about putting distortion filters on anime fan-art to ward off the evil mechanical eye, pointless boycotts of platforms because they are perceived to have let the evil machines taint them, or petitions to further criminalize the creation of derivative works.

[thesnackthatsmilesbacck]

🧨 Try Me

Or: The time Dynamite replied to your thirst tweet and you briefly forgot how to exist

You’re in bed. It’s sometime after 2 a.m.—2:49, specifically, because you’re looking at the time in the corner of your screen and wondering when exactly you started measuring your nights in percentage of battery left rather than hours of sleep remaining.

The blue light burns into your retinas like you're being punished. You know this is bad for your sleep. You’ve read the studies. You’ve seen the TikToks. You’ve also been here before. This exact place: head half-buried in your pillow, a hoodie you haven’t washed in a week pulled over your knees, your thumb aimlessly scrolling until it feels like your thumb is the one doing the thinking.

And then—

It happens.

A tweet. No context.

Bet none of you could take me anyway.

— @DynamightOfficial

2:47 a.m.

You freeze.

Not in the way people mean when they say it metaphorically. You literally freeze—thumb hovering, heart stuttering, stomach twisting like it forgot which direction is “down.”

Because it’s him.

Bakugou Katsuki. Dynamight. Number two hero. Number one problem in your adult life. Professional menace. Certified weaponized male aggression. Your brain’s least safe place to go at night and yet the one it always returns to, like a tongue to a sore tooth.

You stare at the tweet.

It’s nothing. Just twelve words and a digital timestamp. But you read it again. And again. As if the pixels might rearrange themselves into something safer. Less loaded.

But they don’t.

Bet none of you could take me anyway.

It’s not just the words. It’s him saying them. At 2:47 a.m., which is in your opinion is the horniest time of night. It’s the complete lack of punctuation. The aggression that seeps through the screen. The fact that you know—you know—he meant it in both ways. He always means it in both ways. That’s the problem.

Or maybe that’s the whole reason you’re here.

Your brain does this thing when you get nervous—it splits. Like a cracked mirror, every version of you reflecting something slightly different. The part of you that’s amused is like: “Haha, feral tweet from a feral man.” The part of you that’s anxious is like: “Delete your account. Move to rural Canada. Learn to churn butter.” And the part of you that runs your Twitter smut account is already opening the quote tweet box.

You don’t think. Not really. It’s muscle memory at this point.

“Try me. I’ve already taken you in every way imaginable. Check the pinned.”

You hit send.

And then you sit there in the silence that follows, heartbeat going too fast in a body that isn’t even moving. Your screen is too bright. Your room is too quiet. Your brain is too loud.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You’ve tweeted worse. You've written worse. Your entire pinned thread is dedicated to cataloging the (imaginary) ways Dynamight has rearranged your guts like God intended. You once tweeted, “If I die, bury me face-down so Dynamight can sit on my neck.” That got four thousand likes. This is nothing.

But this feels different.

Because this time, he tweeted first.

And something about that—about him speaking into the void and you answering like you’ve been waiting to catch his words midair—feels too real. Too close.

You try to scroll away. But your hand shakes. So you just lie there. Screen glowing. Brain buzzing. And eventually, you fall asleep—if you can call it that.

---

You wake up six hours later to a vibration that doesn’t stop.

Your phone buzzes off your nightstand and clatters to the floor. You groan. Reach for it. Your thumb catches the screen.

And then you see it.

> DynamightOfficial wants to message you.

You sit up so fast you see stars.

For a full three seconds, you stare at the notification like it’s a hallucination. Like your brain has finally given up trying to differentiate between your delusions and your timeline.

But it’s there.

Blue check. Hero account. Him.

You’re not awake. You’re dreaming. You’re in a coma. You died and this is some uniquely customized hell.

You tap it.

Message request: @DynamightOfficial

> you’re outta your fuckin mind

You choke. On nothing. On air. On the weight of your own self-respect, which is currently collapsing like a flan in a cupboard.

He messaged you.

He messaged you.

There’s another one.

> what’s your name

No greeting. No “hey.” No “lol.” Just two messages, four words each, and the kind of syntax that feels like a punch to the sternum. It’s so him you could scream.

And you do. Into your pillow. Loudly. Twice.

Because this can’t be happening.

This is the kind of thing you joke about. The kind of thing you tell your group chat while giggling and pretending you’re not serious: “What if he saw the smut thread and actually liked it? What if he DMed me? Lmao, can you imagine???”

And now he has.

And all you can think is: He saw it. He read it. He read the things I said about his hands.

And then another ping.

> send your fuckin face. need to see who the hell writes shit like that.

You black out for a second.

Just a brief, graceful loss of self.

Then you pace your room like it might stop being your room if you circle it fast enough. Your skin feels like a bad disguise. Your thoughts are piling up in your mouth. You don’t know who you are. You are a brainstem with anxiety. You are a single, vibrating nerve ending.

And yet—your fingers open the camera.

You don’t know why.

Maybe you want proof this is happening. Maybe you want to test him. Maybe you’ve spent so long crafting fantasies in your head that you want to see what happens when one fights back.

You snap the pic.

Just your face. A little lip bite. A little neck. Natural light. The kind of photo that says “I’ve got thoughts you aren’t ready for.”

You hit send.

Read.

He’s typing.

He stops.

He starts again.

> dinner. you’re paying. i wanna see if your mouth works as fast as your thumbs.

You die.

You die and your ghost reads it again and whispers: What the fuck is going on.

You don’t remember what you responded with. Something stupid. Probably “sure.” Probably “okay.” Maybe just your address. Maybe nothing at all.

All you know is that it’s Friday, and you’re standing in front of your closet like it holds the secret to seduction and salvation, and your stomach hasn’t unclenched since noon.

It’s not that you haven’t gone on dates before.

It’s that none of them have started with your smut thread and ended with Bakugou Katsuki telling you to wear the lip bite.

You’ve reread the messages about forty times. You’ve gone back and forth between deleting your account and updating your pinned tweet to something more poetic, like: “This is how it starts. God help me.”

He hasn’t messaged since. And part of you keeps wondering if it was a joke. If it was a dare. If it was a PR stunt gone rogue. You even spent an hour Googling “deepfakes + Twitter DMs” before your roommate told you to shut the hell up and go shave your legs.

You don’t remember getting dressed. You don’t remember walking out the door. You barely remember the cab ride, because your thoughts looped the entire way there:

What if he doesn’t show?

What if he does?

What if he’s disgusted?

What if he reads my face like a book and doesn’t like the ending?

What if I say something dumb?

What if I say something too smart and he thinks I’m pretentious?

What if I say nothing at all?

By the time you arrive, your heart is beating so fast it doesn’t feel like it belongs in your chest anymore. Like it’s a borrowed thing. Like you’re just holding it until someone more qualified comes along.

The place he picked isn’t fancy. It’s not even particularly private. A late-night ramen spot tucked off a quiet street in the city. Clean tables. Dim lighting. No music. Just the hiss of broth and the clink of bowls. You wonder if he comes here often, or if he chose it because it’s the kind of place no one would expect to see him. No cameras. No crowds.

Just him. And you.

You step inside.

He’s already there.

He’s sitting in a corner booth, hood up, eyes scanning the room like he’s ready to bite anyone who recognizes him. He’s wearing black. Of course he is. Not dramatic, not sleek—just Bakugou. Comfortable but on edge. Coiled. Like he’s always thirty seconds away from going feral.

You freeze.

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours.

He doesn’t smile.

He stares.

You feel it—like heat, like gravity, like a trap closing around your ribs in slow motion. He looks at you like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he didn’t expect you to look like this. And you don’t know if that’s good or bad.

But then he gestures at the seat across from him with a flick of two fingers. Like you’re late to a meeting. Like he’s been waiting.

You sit.

You are aware of your body in a way you didn’t know was possible. Aware of your hands. Your breath. The way your voice might crack if you speak too soon. You want to crawl out of your own skin and start over. You want to kiss him through the table.

You want a lot of things you can’t say out loud.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” he says, finally.

His voice is lower in person. Rougher. Like it’s been scraped through gravel and fire and came out angry on the other side. There’s no filter. No politeness. He talks like he punches: direct. Blunt. Aimed to connect.

You laugh, nervous. “Didn’t think you were serious.”

He scoffs. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

You blink.

He leans forward. “You think I go ‘round DMing just anyone who writes about sittin’ on my face?”

Your soul leaves your body.

You attempt to make a sound that isn’t a dying bird.

“Fuckin’ hilarious, by the way,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself. “Some’a that shit was too accurate.”

“You read it?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

You want to die. But not in a bad way. In the way that means you want to explode into dust and float into the air and never come down.

You swallow. “...Do I owe you royalties?”

That gets a smirk. Barely there, but real. He slouches in the booth, spreading his legs a little, like he owns the air around him.

“You write about me like you’ve been there,” he says. Not accusing. Curious.

“I—” You pause. “I research.”

“You imagine.”

Your cheeks burn. “Yeah.”

His eyes drag down your face. To your mouth.

“Showed,” he says. “In the threads.”

You can’t look at him. You’re too seen. You’ve never been more clothed and more naked in your life.

A waiter comes. He orders for both of you. No menus. Just confidence.

You’re still reeling when the food arrives, steam curling in the space between you like a bridge.

You talk. About dumb things. About nothing. You think you black out for half the conversation, but you remember that he listens—really listens. He doesn’t look at his phone. He doesn’t talk over you. He just watches. Like he’s trying to match you to the version of you that lives in his head now.

You try not to fall in love with that. But it’s hard.

At the end of the night, he pays. You don’t argue. You remember the text—you’re paying—but he brushes you off when you reach for your wallet. “You’ll pay next time,” he says. Like it’s a promise. Like he’s already decided.

He walks you home.

The city is quiet. Your stomach is louder.

You want to ask a hundred things. What this is. What he wants. Whether he’s going to ghost you after this or kiss you on the sidewalk.

You don’t ask.

Because when you reach your building, he stops. Looks at you. The streetlight hits the edge of his jaw, and your breath catches on the thought: He’s real. This is happening. I am not dreaming this.

And then he leans close.

Close enough that you feel his voice before you hear it.

“Next time you write about me,” he says, low and warm and rough in your ear, “make it a little more accurate.”

You freeze.

“Don't worry, i'll give you material.”

And then he walks away.

Just like that.

While you stare at him with your mouth agape.

[stlllle]

Hiii! You’re writing is amazing 😊

Could you do a Namgyu x f! reader? where reader is Namgyus ex-finance or smth and they broke up due to him stealing her money for drugs or smth.. but throughout the games she’s been trying to avoid him even tho he tries to talk to her (sort of a 222 and 333 situation). Then during hide and seek(keys and knives) reader gets blue and Namgyu gets red and she sees how aggressive Namgyu has gotten with people and since she’s been trying to avoid him she thinks he will go after her next not knowing he’s still deeply inlove with her. So she’s begging people to switch but no one will. Then during the game he sees someone trying to kill her and he gets them off with Myungi. You can choose the ending but pls fluff!! (can u also include a part where he’s talking to Myungi about reader since Myungi brought up his love for junhee so Namgyu brings up reader and everything he feels)!! no smut please😊Thank you so much❤️❤️

Ashes of Us — Nam-Gyu x f!Reader

📌 Warnings:

Violence, strong language, obsession, toxic relationship, addiction mention, emotional trauma, character death, oppressive environment, psychological tension, intense kiss, unresolved feelings. (18+ for themes, no smut)

📌 Word Count:

~12,500 words

📌 Author’s Note:

Hiiiii, I’m so happy you sent this request 🙂

I’m not sure if it turned out good… but here it is (for some reason I really struggled to write this, like, rewrote it so many times lol).

If you read and enjoy it, I recommend checking out my other stories 😛

Requests are currently closed, but if you think your idea is really good, feel free to send it anyway (I just won’t be fast to answer!)

Masterlist — [link]

You met Nam-Gyu on a Friday.

Rain, neon lights and the smell of cheap beer.

The kind of night where everything starts bad and somehow gets worse.

He worked at the shittiest club in town — half security, half bartender, half problem. And that night, you were drunk enough not to care about any of it.

He was the one who pulled you away from some asshole who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

A shove, a low threat, and just like that — he became the topic of the week in your friend group.

"Did you see that guy?"

"That stare? Holy shit."

"If he grabbed me like that I’d marry him."

You laughed.

But you went back the next week.

---

That’s how it started.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t the type to start conversations.

He was quiet, a little guarded, way too handsome for his job, with a crooked smirk that made stupid girls fall in love.

— “You gonna keep staring or you want a drink?”

— “If you’re the one serving, I’ll take it.”

He huffed, but his ears turned pink.

After that, you started seeing each other. First outside the club, then in shitty coffee shops, then on his worn-out couch watching dubbed movies at 2AM.

Nam-Gyu wasn’t romantic. He was awkward.

He’d buy you cheap chocolate from corner stores and bring you a stolen flower from someone’s garden.

Jealous, protective, but in a way that — in the beginning — felt good.

If someone looked at you too long on the street, he’d drape an arm over your shoulders.

If a guy hit on you at a bar, Nam-Gyu would appear out of nowhere with that dead-eyed stare.

And you fell for him.

Fast. Hard. Ugly.

---

The nights with him were the best.

Laughing too loud after two cups of shitty soju.

Singing old songs on empty sidewalks at 3AM.

Nam-Gyu sleeping spooned against you, face buried in your neck, mumbling slurred promises.

— “We’re gonna get outta here, you know?”

— “Yeah? Where to?”

— “Tokyo. Or Busan. Fuck it, anywhere far from this shithole.”

You’d laugh and call him an idiot.

But you believed him.

He made you believe.

---

And of course, there were fights.

Because he was possessive, insecure, reckless.

You hated when he’d disappear for hours with no word.

He hated when you so much as spoke to a guy.

But you made up.

Always circled back to each other.

The fights ended with him slamming the door, then coming back hours later, face scuffed, exhausted grin, holding a plastic bag.

— “Here. Strawberry. Your favorite.”

— “You can’t buy me off with candy, Nam-Gyu.”

— “Shut up and eat it.”

You did.

He held you.

And you fell asleep together.

---

But little by little… it changed.

Nam-Gyu started acting strange.

Tired. Distant. Hollow.

You pretended not to see.

Then money started going missing.

At first it was coins.

Then bills.

Then your favorite earrings.

Your old camera.

When you asked, he’d brush it off.

Said you lost them.

You knew better.

But you were scared of the truth.

Until one day, you caught him.

Came home early, found him in the bathroom.

Thin. Pale. Shaking.

And the drugs right there on the counter.

Your world cracked in half.

— “What the fuck is this, Nam-Gyu?!”

— “It’s not what you think.”

— “It’s exactly what I think!”

He tried to hug you.

You flinched.

— “I’m trying, okay? I’m gonna quit.”

You wanted to believe it.

For a while, you did.

---

The relapses came fast.

He’d disappear for days.

Come back wrecked.

You’d scream. He’d cry.

You’d swear you were leaving. He’d promise to stop.

You spent your savings bailing him out.

Paid rent. Paid debts. Paid for hospital nights.

Until the day you checked your bank account and saw it was empty.

Every last cent.

Years of work.

You knew instantly.

You came home ready to kill.

Door cracked open.

Apartment trashed.

Nam-Gyu half-conscious on the floor.

You screamed, shook him, called an ambulance.

He barely whispered.

— “I’m sorry… I couldn’t…”

— “Where’s my money, Nam-Gyu?!”

— “I… I needed it.”

You hit him.

Cried. Screamed. Called him every name you knew.

And you left.

Small bag.

Puffy face.

Shaking hands.

He tried to stop you at the door.

— “Don’t go.”

— “I already did.”

The door slammed shut.

You never went back.

---

And you thought that was the end.

Months later, new job, new number, new apartment — you almost forgot.

Almost.

Until you woke up in that goddamn arena.

A number on your chest.

And across the field.

Those eyes.

The same.

But dead.

Covered in blood and dirt.

The same boy you loved.

Now a ghost.

And before the shock even wore off, all you could think was:

Fuck. He’s here.

He’s alive.

And I’m screwed.

---

---

The smell in that dormitory was always the same.

Metal, sweat, dried blood clinging to the concrete.

You’d been there long enough to know nothing changed.

The iron bunk beds, the numbers on chests, exhausted faces, and the constant, suffocating fear.

But since the day you saw Nam-Gyu there, fear had turned into something else.

Panic.

He was there.

And unlike you, he seemed fine.

Too fine.

Always quiet, lying on the same bunk, with that empty stare.

And it was always on you.

Since you’d run into him in the courtyard after the first game, you hadn’t been able to breathe properly.

Hiding in the furthest corners, avoiding eye contact, switching bunks every night.

But it didn’t matter.

He always found you.

You felt it.

---

That night, before the next game, the dorm was restless.

Whispers everywhere.

Everyone felt something bad coming.

You were curled up in one of the farthest bunk corners, staring at your hands, trying to make yourself invisible.

And then you heard it.

— “You’ve had that look since yesterday.”

Myung-gi, Player 333, hanging his head from the top bunk to look at you.

You didn’t answer.

— “Relax. Can’t get worse than this.”

You let out a dry, bitter laugh.

He dropped down to the lower bunk beside you.

— “So? You leave anyone out there?”

— “No.”

— “Liar. Everyone left someone.”

Silence.

You stayed quiet.

Myung-gi grinned sideways.

— “I left someone. One of those fucked up loves too.”

— “Good for you.”

— “Was starting to think I was the only dumbass loving the wrong person.”

You were about to snap back when you felt it.

That stare.

Again.

You lifted your eyes and there he was.

Nam-Gyu, on a corner bunk, staring at you the same way only he could.

Your throat tightened.

Myung-gi noticed.

— “Ah… it’s ‘cause of him.”

You didn’t reply.

— “You two knew each other before, huh?”

— “Shut up.”

Myung-gi chuckled and moved away.

Nam-Gyu didn’t.

---

The announcement came right after.

That soulless, metallic voice filling the dorm.

“Players, prepare for the next game. Proceed in single file to the instructions hall.”

The shuffling of bodies, footsteps on concrete, everyone lining up.

You kept your head down, trying to disappear in the crowd.

But you knew.

You felt his eyes burning into your back.

Always.

---

In the instructions hall, all players in line, the screen lit up.

Hide and Seek.

Two teams.

Blue and Red.

One hunts. One runs.

Knives and keys scattered on the floor of the arena.

The game runs until one side remains.

Your stomach dropped.

Your number flashed blue.

Across the room, you saw his chest glow red.

Fuck.

The air tightened.

You looked around in panic.

— “Someone switch with me! Please!”

— “Piss off.”

— “Please, I’ll do anything—”

— “Not a chance.”

No one wanted it.

You could feel his eyes again.

Even before the game started, he knew what you were about to do.

---

From his corner, Nam-Gyu watched you begging.

Your trembling hands.

The sheer fear on your face.

And something in him twisted.

Or whatever was left.

Myung-gi approached him.

— “You gonna go after her?”

— “I’m not laying a hand on her.”

— “And if someone else does?”

Nam-Gyu clenched his fists.

— “Then they die first.”

Myung-gi gave him a crooked grin.

— “You’re still that fucked up over her.”

— “Always was.”

---

The signal blared.

Everyone moved through the doors into the arena.

A wide, open space.

Concrete floor, clean walls.

Knives and keys scattered everywhere.

You backed up against the nearest wall, pulse hammering in your throat.

People running, screaming.

Bodies hitting the floor.

Blood already marking the pale concrete.

Every footstep echoed.

Until a player came for you.

Sweaty face, knife in hand.

Eyes desperate for a point.

You stepped back.

He lunged.

And the moment the blade swung, a figure crossed your vision.

Nam-Gyu.

The punch was brutal.

The man collapsed.

Nam-Gyu finished him off with a knife grabbed from the ground.

Blood splattered the concrete.

You froze, wide-eyed, heart pounding.

Nam-Gyu raised his gaze to you.

Chest heaving. Hands smeared in blood.

And he said, low, only for you to hear.

— “Told you I’d always protect you.”

---

His voice barely made it out through the thick air, chest heaving, face sweaty, his hand still slick with the blood of the guy he’d just dropped.

You could feel your whole body trembling. Didn’t know if it was fear, shock, or your heart beating so fast it physically hurt.

And for a second, right there in that filthy arena, you just looked at him.

At the same man who ruined your life — and had just saved it.

The game wasn’t over.

Screams still echoed. Knives hitting the floor. Footsteps running.

But you couldn’t move.

He spoke again.

— “Stay with me.”

It wasn’t a command. Or a plea. It was just… almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Then another player came at you from behind. And before you could react, Nam-Gyu was already moving.

Dropped the guy with a kick to the chest. A key stabbed clean into his throat.

You gasped.

— “Fucking hell, Nam-Gyu!”

— “I told you no one was touching you.”

He grabbed a knife off the floor, eyes locked on the remaining players, gesturing with his head.

— “Come on. Stay behind me.”

And against everything logical, you did.

For the rest of that nightmare of a game, he kept people away from you.

Whoever tried, went down.

At some point, Myung-gi appeared, blood on his lip and laughing like a psycho.

— “If it wasn’t so pathetic, it’d almost be romantic.”

Nam-Gyu didn’t even answer.

When the final buzzer sounded and the metallic voice announced the end of the match, the few survivors staggered back to the dorm.

Some limping. Some carried. Some numb.

You moved on autopilot.

Hands sticky, legs shaking, head pounding.

When you passed through the door, you felt the thick, suffocating heat of the dorm again.

The weight of everyone’s breathing.

The smell of iron.

You tried to disappear into a corner.

To an empty bunk.

But he followed.

Nam-Gyu stopped a couple steps away.

You turned to him.

— “What do you want?”

— “To talk.”

— “We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

Your voice cracked.

He ran a hand through his hair, nervous, something you’d never seen before.

That Nam-Gyu never showed anything.

Cold. Sharp.

Now, he just looked tired.

— “I know I fucked everything up.”

You stayed quiet.

— “If I could take it back… if I could undo what I did to you, I would.”

You bit your lip.

— “You ruined my life, Nam-Gyu.”

He closed his eyes. Chest rising slowly.

— “I know. And I’ll never… never forgive myself for it.”

You sat down on the edge of the bunk, burying your face in your hands.

— “Why are you doing this now? Why did you risk yourself for me today?”

He knelt in front of you, right at eye level.

— “Because even after everything… I still fucking love you.”

The words came low. Broken.

— “Even after losing you. After dragging you to hell with me. I still fucking love you, ____.”

You felt your eyes burn.

Your throat closing tight.

And before you could stop it, the tears were already falling.

Nam-Gyu hesitated. Then reached out, slowly.

— “Let me take care of you. Just tonight. Just now.”

You closed your eyes.

For a second.

And rested your forehead against his.

— “I hate you, Nam-Gyu.”

— “Me too.”

A tired, crooked smile.

And then he kissed you.

It was rough, messy, tasted like blood and salt.

But it was real.

You grabbed his shirt. He pulled you closer.

The entire dorm pretending not to notice.

Until Myung-gi’s loud voice cut through from his corner.

— “Finally, fuck. This circus was missing one last act.”

Nam-Gyu flipped him off without pulling away from you.

And for a moment — just that moment — you forgot where you were.

Forgot the debt, the blood, the hate.

It was just him.

You.

And the silent promise that as long as he was breathing, no one would lay a hand on you.

---

THE END.

[toskarin]

Always slightly jarring seeing you post about anything 40k cause I always have the impression it's something you'd either be ambivalent of or passively dislike

my relationship with 40k is complicated! complicated enough to warrant a readmore

it's an aesthetically gorgeous setting of absolute misery and awe-inspiring violence to a ridiculous extreme. it's the aesthetics of the NWOBHM extrapolated and amped up as far as they can possibly be amped up, complete with little doodles of 60s era elric slathered in the margins

it creates so much beautiful artwork and so many interesting hypergranular interactions between individuals who have to exist in that kind of world, who have to continue on with their fundamental personhood pushing against an abjectly hopeless reality and no future worth living into

it's weaponised cathedrals in space that shovel corpses into their furnaces, five zeros added to every important number, a norse dialect of Future Latin existing entirely so that a linguistic technicality about the name "bjorn" can come into play like a macbeth prophecy, king arthur von gilgamesh is kept on life support so that everyone can pretend the empire isn't collapsing by worshipping his catatonic corpse like a nuclear power plant that produces divine will

it's a grotesque excess in all things! it's joke upon joke upon joke!

you can even root around a bit further and say "the little glimmer of hope that the imperium provides humanity is propaganda papered over the collapsing hopeless void of how bad things really are, and all of the cruelty is at once needless and pointless" if you want to get especially gothic about it

which I personally do! as someone who enjoys the fiction space allowed by nihilistic and terminal circumstances, it provides a lot of ink for that well

I quite like a good deal of 40k! I also can't stand it, and it's mostly not even because of how the fanbase acts about women, gay people, and the intersections of those categories that contains me (you've seen my blog theme. I'm a deep sea creature to that kind of stuff at this point)

even setting aside the starship troopers aspect of things, even setting aside the faults of the writing itself, 40k being the strut-skeleton of a wargame where you're encouraged to be (profoundly) financially invested in your faction by way of your army leads to some of the absolute most obnoxious powerscaling debates I've ever seen for any franchise ever

I'm trying to think of the best way to put this without coming off as overly mean-spirited, but if you look at the replies on any art of a character who is not a space marine killing a space marine, regardless of dramatic context, you'd be forgiven for assuming the artist personally threatened to cuck everyone in the thread

something that mechanically occurs in the wargame, which textually occurs in the written canon, will be litigated out until everyone gets to settle on the most boring possible answer and nobody dies who isn't expected to

and of course the franchise itself has a perverse incentive to play gently with those exact feelings! in the business of selling boutique plastic and faction rulebooks, there's a lot of money that goes up in flames if you make the primary buyers of your most sustainably reflavourable moulds widely popular miniatures feel like a lost game could be reflected in canon rather than just being some bad gameplay on their part

I can't really offer any particular synthesis of all this into a broader point. in the end, I can't stand the canon or fandom, and I'm also primarily endeared by the canon and fandom

or to put all that another way, I don't care about how the sausage is made, I'm not the one buying it, but I do enjoy the infrastructure that invites gratuitous textual accounts of sausage factory manglings and photos of their aftermath

I'm mostly just here for the yaoi and the dip pen art

[sorrowsofsilence]

the bet 4 • bad omens

pairing: all bad omens members x fem!reader

words: 10.2k • masterlist

warnings: 18+ smut, ANGST (messssy, they be jealous and working through shit in this part ok) polyandrous relationship, orgasm denial, overstimulation, begging, gangbang, threesome, foursome, voyeurism, double penetration- pls wrap it b4 u tap it, male!masturbating, male!receiving, fem!receiving, creampies, "sloppy seconds" (oops), slight choking, swearing, nicknames: princess, pretty girl, good girl), jealousy, arguing, physical fighting (jolly be punched), drinking

summary: It wasn't really just a game after all, was it?

note: thank you for everyone's patience <3 I loved this series, way more than I thought I would when part 1 was a silly little fever dream I had, that now turned into PLOT lol. So thank you all again <3 enjoy!

+ Please read all the warnings before reading +

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

+ recap from part 3 +

"You want control over her-" Ruffilo gestured around, "over us."

"That's bullshit," Noah scoffed, eyes narrowing. "Don't twist this."

You pulled away from Jolly, your heart lerching forward anxiously, "Can you not think with your dicks for a second? That not what Noah is saying?"

"I- thank you!" He threw a hand out at you in agreement as he sucked in another breath, "I'm talking about boundaries. There are five of us here, all with the same level of responsibilities. And you guys decided to fuck before a show, and ignore everything else. For..."

He faltered, eyes locking with yours, "...for some pussy."

The silence that followed burned, his words feeling like a slap to your chest.

"Thats not- I didn't mean-" Noah stumbled, shame immediately flashing in his face.

You looked away, heart squeezing tight in shame.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I shouldn't have started anything before the show. That was...unprofessional."

A low, distorted voice echoed over the sound system: "Bad omens on stage in two. Meet backstage."

Nobody moved.

"We gotta go," Folio said, breaking the heavy silence.

Noah ran a hand down his face and nodded stiffly, his usually easy-going demeanour replaced with a hollow shell.

He turned to leave. "We'll talk about this later. Good luck tonight."

You felt a pang of regret that pinched your heart, a string of shame following as each member left the room.

Only Folio paused at the door, giving you an unreadable look that caused you to share a tight smile.

+++++

As soon as the show ended and you began packing up the soundboard, you shot Matt a look. He stiffened beside you.

“Is that all I am to you guys?” you whispered, shame burning behind your eyes. “Some pussy?”

Matt’s blond head snapped up, horror in his wide eyes, as if you’d struck him. “No—fuck no. That’s not what we meant—”

You cut him off, your voice trembling while you wound the cables more messily with each turn. “Then why did Noah say it? And why didn’t any of you say anything?”

He said nothing, jaw clenched, guilt spreading across his face. You kept your tone low- too many people still buzzing around the venue- but inside, you burned.

“I know I have no right to be upset…not when I was just a fucking bet from the start.”

Matt reached out, his hands settling on your shoulders in a pained kind of warmth, “No- God- we’re all fucked up about this. How is any of this normal?”

You stared at him for a moment, like maybe you could find the answer on his face. Yet, there was nothing.

Before you could speak again, someone called from behind you.

Noah appeared, his voice quiet but tinged with anger, "Can we talk?"

You instinctively narrowed your eyes at his tone, feeling both defensive yet understanding. Ahreeing, he guided you back to the green room and shut the door behind you. He turned swiftly once it was closed, towering over you with his arms crossed.

“What do you want?” You mumbled, despite knowing exactly what he was going to talk about.

“Look, yeah, I said it- ‘some pussy.’ Maybe I’m an asshole. But what was I supposed to do when I’m falling for you, and I watch you fall for everyone but me?”

You shook your head, glare sharp. “You know I want you, I need you- but you call me that?”

Noah scoffed bitterly, “Yeah? You didn’t look like you needed me earlier. I didn’t hear you calling my name. Just moaning for them.”

Your body went rigid as you read between his lines. “So that’s what this is about? You’re jealous?”

Noah’s voice turned sharp, acid-laced and raw. “No. I’m pissed I care. One night I’ve got your cum dripping on my fingers, and the next I’m just some guy ignored while you’re busy being devoured by three others.”

Silence pressed in as you replayed his words. Then he stepped forward, pressing you against the door, his face inches from yours. “Tell me, princess…are you upset I called you ‘some pussy,’ or that I wasn’t the one inside you when I said it?”

A breath hitched in your throat at his comment. The intensity in his eyes threatened to swallow you.

“Was it fun for you, letting Nick fuck you while I begged at the other side of the door?” he demanded, running a hand through his messy hair.

You met his gaze without flinching. “I didn’t ignore you because I didn’t care or because I didn’t want you. I just…got caught up. Maybe I liked it. Liked knowing you were listening. Liked how desperate you sounded.”

Noah laughed, a hollow, sad sound, then stepped back. “Maybe we never should’ve pretended this was more than a stupid bet to get into your pants.” His eyes hardened. “Which, by the way, Jolly would’ve won; he’s been inside you more than any of us.”

Tears pricked your eyes, your chest tightening with anger. “I’m not your toy, even if we all agreed to share.”

Silence swelled until Noah’s voice broke it, hoarse; “I never wanted to share you. I just agreed because I thought that was the only way I’d have you at all.”

You let out a sound between a laugh and a sob, “So now you’re punishing me for it?”

Anger crept into your chest as you took a step forward, tears streaming. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop Ruffilo from fucking me and answer the door when you needed help. That was wrong. But everything else? I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry you all chased me or that I caught feelings for all of you. It’s not even about the door, Noah. You’re blaming me for your jealousy, when you agreed to the rules.”

Noah watched as your body shook before him with fury and hurt- his stomach beginning to ache.

“You can’t take your anger out on me just because it was Ruffilo’s cum inside me instead of yours,” you spat.

His face heated as butterflies swirled anxiously in his stomach; but before he could respond, the door swung open.

Matt stood there, breathless and flushed, eyes darting between your tear-stained face and Noah’s rigid frame.

“You okay?” he asked you, too casual for the storm in the room.

Noah stiffened instantly, stepping aside as if trying to hide what you’d just shared. Turning your back to both of them, you wiped your cheeks quickly before tears could fall again.

“Did you follow us?” Noah snapped.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I noticed she hadn’t come back. Sorry for giving a shit.”

“Everything’s fine. I had it under control,” Noah answered.

“Oh yeah?” Matt scoffed, stepping further inside, voice rising. “Because making her cry in a locked room is totally ‘under control’?”

“Stop,” you said sharply, spinning to face them. “Stop turning this into a contest over who’s the better guy. You’re both losing me right now.”

Noah flinched as Matt’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. You drew in a ragged breath. “You all said you wanted me. So stop competing. Stop keeping score and see me as a person.”

It was quiet for a moment, before you spoke again, “Because I’m not sure I can keep doing this when there are five of you to love, and only one of me.”

Noah looked like he had something to say- but this time, he didn’t. Neither did Matt.

You stepped past them both, swallowing your tears like poison, and opened the door, “If this is still a game still, I’m done playing.”

You didn’t slam it.You just walked out.

You wandered until your legs ached, circling the streets, finally heading back to the bus. Their voices still echoed- especially his.

“Are you mad I wasn’t the one inside you?”

Noah didn’t know what he was saying.

Or maybe he did. Maybe they all did.

You had wanted to believe they saw you.

But maybe you really were never more than a body with a name.

++++ Inside the green room, the silence shattered like glass.

“You happy now?” Matt snapped, spinning on Noah.

“Don’t start with me,” Noah barked, brows furrowing in frustration. “You were there. You didn’t say anything.”

“And that’s a good thing because I didn’t fucking say what you said.”

Noah ran another hand through his hair, “Yeah? Well maybe I said what we were all thinking.”

“No, you didn’t.” Matt spat, “You tore her apart.”

The door opened again, Ruffilo, Jolly and Folio storming in.

“Why did our girl just leave the building crying?” Jolly snarled, immediately pushing against Noah’s chest in an accusative manor, “You good now, Noah? Get what you wanted?”

Noah’s jaw clenched, fists tight against his side, “Back the fuck off.”

“Oh, so you want me to back off? Not like when you were banging on the damn door like a dog in heat?” His thick accent rolled off his tongue as his silver eyes glared daggers at the singer.

“You still think I was just trying to fuck? I was asking for help. You assholes were all busy shoving your cocks in her every hole while I was backstage trying to fix the earpiece so we’d actually put on a decent show.” Noah’s finger pushed slightly against Jolly’s chest, his ears heating with anger.

Ruffilo’s voice was flat as he crossed his arms, “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend this is about the show. You were pissed you weren’t in the middle of it. Own it.”

Noah’s head snapped toward him. “That’s all you think it was? I would eat her out on the goddamn amp if you could’ve. But I was doing real work while you slacked off.”

Jolly laughed, cruel and low. “Sure, because you’d be so concerned about time if you were the one burying yourself in her pussy.”

Noah shoved him hard, and Jolly staggered back. His voice dropped to a measured hiss. “Say that again.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself-” Ruffilo began as Matt tried to step between Noah and Jolly, but it was too late.

Noah’s fist landed right in Jolly’s jaw.

A collective gasp filled the room. Jolly stumbled, then seized Noah’s shirt and yanked him down. They tumbled to the floor in a clash of limbs and harsh words, both ignoring the yells for them to stop.

"Cut it out!" Matt roared, diving onto the pair in an attempt to pry them apart. He clutched Jolly’s shirt, wrestling him off Noah, while Ruffilo joined in; enough to keep Noah from striking again.

Folio leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes burning with frustration. “Grow the hell up,” he muttered.

Noah leveled a heated glare at Folio, struggling in Matt’s grip. “Oh now you've got something to say?” Noah spat bitterly.

“You damn right I do,” the drummer retorted, stepping forward. “You two suggested the gangbang, and you,” Folio pointed sharply at Jolly- “you started this entire bet by saying she’d suck your cock again; treating her like a prize none of us really respected.”

Jolly’s lip was bleeding now, crimson catching in the scruff of his beard as he sneered past Matt’s shoulder. “Yeah, and you stayed silent didn’t you?” he snapped at Folio. “Don’t act like some moral fucking compass now.”

Folio advanced, voice low. “I never saw her as a game. I didn’t turn her into a contest. I’ve wanted her from the start.”

“Oh, please,” Ruffilo scoffed, pacing. “You’re the ‘gentleman’ vulture, lurking until it’s convenient.”

“Better than the assholes who keep count,” Folio shot back.

“Enough,” Matt’s voice cracked through the room like thunder, raw and full of gravel. He shoved away from them both, chest heaving, eyes burning. “This isn’t about who touched her last or who made her scream louder. It’s that she walked out crying- because we treated her like a fucking trophy.Because our egos were bigger than her feelings. She never asked to be gambled for. ”

Silence swallowed the room. Noah’s shoulders shook; his breath came in shallow gasps. “I can’t believe I called her that name.”

Guilt hung heavy. Finally Folio whispered, “I can’t believe none of us defended her.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Noah continued, eyes fixed on the floor. “I wanted to bring her back here and kiss her and make things right. Instead I lashed out and blamed her for shit I can’t even understand.”

Ruffilo scrubbed a hand down his face, “She probably just feels like an object,” he muttered, the words tasting bitter.

Folio exhaled slowly, as though releasing a weight. “I love her.”

The words struck them all as though he spoke for each one. “I really do. I want dumb movie dates, flowers she pretends to hate, forehead kisses when she’s upset. I want her to meet my mom. I want to spoil her until she tells me to stop. I want to give her my life, not just an orgasm.” His voice cracked.

Ruffilo looked up, eyes bright. “I…I love her too.”

Their eyes met, but not as rivals. Maybe they finally realized it wasn’t supposed to be a competition… because you never gave them a reason to believe one was less important than the other.

Matt ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, we’re jealous. But mostly we’re terrified of losing her, scared she’d choose one of us- or none. Christ, I wouldn’t blame her.” He leaned back against the wall. “We made her choose all of us.”

Jolly slid down beside Noah, hand trembling on his knee. “We can’t fix this with flowers and a half-assed sorry. She deserves more.”

“We want her. She wants us all,” he continued softly, “Isn’t that something to be grateful for; that she’d stretch herself thin for us, even after knowing about the bet?”

No one argued.

Ruffilo toyed with his sleeve. “If having a piece of her heart means fighting jealousy, I’ll learn. Because I can’t let her go- and I wouldn’t survive seeing her with someone else.”

Noah’s lips thinned in thought. It was going to be fucking hard, but he realized that he had to try. For you. And so would Folio, Ruffilo, Jolly, and Matt. It was an agreement to work through their possessive feelings and doubt- to give you the treatment you deserved.

Folio nodded slowly, his face softening. “We’ve just gotta stop making it about us. If we’re really in love with her, then we give her everything. Not just sex.”

Matt’s voice dropped to a gentle murmur. “Ok. Together, we say we’re sorry. And then we shut up and let her tell us what she wants. No guilt and no pressure. Just… honesty.”

“And if she tells us to fuck off,” Jolly added, “we walk.”

Noah nodded. “But if she lets us in- even just a little- we love her like she’s the only woman who’s ever mattered.”

“Because she is.” Ruffilo said.

The silence between them was no longer cold. It felt like an agreement, tentative but real.

And although it was still fractured and aching- they finally aligned.

++

The boys still did decide to buy flowers, when on their way back to the bus.

However, Not just any flowers- the ones you loved. Roses, lilies, tulips and a few others they didn't even recognize. They found them at an all-night grocery store, and from the cashier's perplexed look, she assumed they were either late for an anniversary party or very, very drunk. But not a single man spoke, each lost to their thoughts as they placed the abundance of flowers in the cart.

This was not about buying forgiveness; it was an offering, a promise to do better.

As soon as they stepped onto the bus, they spotted you huddled at the far end of the couch, arms wrapped around your knees. Your thumb paused on your phone’s screen, and you swallowed hard, turning away from them.

Folio was the first to move.

He stepped forward, holding the awkward bundle of flowers against his chest like a shield. “We know you probably don’t want to see us right now,” he said quietly. “And that’s fair. But we needed to say this.” You stayed silent, eyes down, though you didn’t leave.

He took a breath. “We fucked up. Not just tonight, but from the start. We treated you like a fantasy instead of a person. I know an apology isn’t enough, but I’m giving it anyway. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Matt came next, gaze heavy on your curled form. “We got jealous and turned something that could’ve been beautiful into a fucking mess. We forgot you weren’t a prize to fight over. You’re you, and that should’ve been enough.”

Ruffilo whispered, “I’m sorry, love.”

Your breathing caught but your lips stayed shut.

Jolly then knelt before the couch, bringing himself to eye level. “None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t made it a competition for your attention. You deserve more than being treated like an object. I’m sorry.”

Noah approached last, almost cautiously, as if afraid you’d run. His voice cracked: “We talked. Really talked. And…we want to work on it. On ourselves with this. But only if you want to.”

Your head lifted, eyes red. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because we’re not asking you to take us back,” Noah said. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. We just want to show you we can grow, that we can love you the way you deserve; without tearing each other apart. We know we’re jealous, but we want to grow, for you.”

You hugged your legs tighter and tossed your phone onto the couch. “And if I say I can’t do it? There are five of you with different kind’s of love. I know this is all new, but it’s important that you guys figure out what you need from me, without treating me like the problem.”

Silence hung in the room as they processed your words. Then Ruffilo let out a shaky breath, “We never wanted you to feel like a problem. You're right, we handled this like shit. But we want to fix it, not by making you choose between us but by learning to share and respect each other...and you."

Folio was the next to speak up, his calm voice filling the silent room, “What if we split our time with you individually, for a while? So that we can all figure out what we need and understand our feelings better. And when we’re comfortable...we can…try again.”

Jolly met your gaze from afar, looking for any sign of approval or disapproval in your eyes. “We want to be with you but not at the cost of your pain... if this isn’t right for you anymore, please tell us.”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, fingers threading through the blanket draped across your lap.

Folio’s tensed shoulders relaxed slightly at your words before he held out the bouquet toward you. “These are for you- from all of us.”

Taking the flowers from him, you skimmed your fingers across petals of roses, lightly inhaling their scent. “Thank you.”

Your heart did flutter at the gesture, despite your feelings. The fact you had all five of your boys, basically begging you to stay with them- that made your stomach swirl.

Matt piped up, “And Y/N? Noah is…” he breathed in deeply, letting it out slowly before continuing, “He was out of line earlier. I know he's sorry, we all are. You're not just some… you're not what he said.”

Noah nodded along with his words before clearing his throat and adding, “I’m so sorry. We never felt that way about you. You're not just a toy to us. You're...you're Y/N." His voice was barely a whisper as he confessed, sincerity laced with remorse in his tone. Your eyes landed on him, silently locking onto his gaze.

Suddenly, it was just you and him in the room. And you believed him, wholeheartedly.

++

Hours passed, the pile of flowers decorating the rickety bus table with their vibrant colors and fresh fragrance.

They all left you alone after the lengthy apology and confessions, understanding your need for solitude…or so you thought until there were soft thumps on the door.

Jolly entered quietly, cautiously, his eyes briefly flickering to the flowers before finding yours.

He slipped next to you on the couch without uttering a single word, offering a consoling silence that held a strange sense of comfort. You melted into his touch when his hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together as you both stared at the empty place before you.

“I mean it,” he whispered after a few minutes of silence, his voice barely above audible but weighty enough to hold your attention. “All those things I said. We need to make it right, for you.”

You turned your head to look at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. His eyes were soft as he watched you, filled with so much raw sincerity that your heart ached. You nodded, barely visible in the dim room but enough for him to sigh in relief.

“Don’t carry the guilt, Y/N,” he murmured, thumb stroking your hand gently. "This isn't your fault or responsibility to fix... it's ours."

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, Jolly.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said quietly, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of your hand.

His calming presence and sincere words brought you comfort while the kiss he placed on your hand lingered, not just on your skin, but as a warmth that spread through your chest.

When he slightly pulled back, he settled beside you, clearly intending to stay until you asked him to leave. His arm rested gently behind your back, not in a possessive manner, but as a quiet offer of support. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he adjusted, wrapping an arm around you. His other hand remained entwined with yours, thumb tracing slow, steady circles.

Neither of you spoke because words weren't necessary. You felt at ease beside him, savoring his presence. You wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Jolly’s lips lightly touched your hair. “I know I shouldn’t ask for anything from you right now,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But I need you to know… I love you. I really, really do.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, lifting your head to face him, meeting his gaze filled with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

“And I need to show you,” he added, his voice even softer. “What that means. What you mean to me.”

The guitarists hand moved to your cheek, thumb caressing your skin as if it were sacred. He leaned in slowly, giving you a chance to stop him, but you didn’t.

“Can I kiss you?”

His lips met yours in a kiss that felt more like a gentle exhale than a collision. As if he was kissing you to say thank you for still being there.

The blanket slipped from your shoulders as he gently guided you back, his body moving with yours, careful and unhurried. There was no urgency- just a need. Not to take, but to give. To honour.

He kissed down your neck, his lips barely brushing your skin.

Every hitch of your breath under his kiss made him more mindful. His hands traced the length of your arms, his own shuddering when he heard you moan. His lips against your skin felt soft and caring; a complete contrast to the hot, fervent kisses shared with him before.

You closed your eyes, fingers tangling in his long dark strands, tugging lightly until a soft groan vibrated against your skin. His lips traced lower, kissing a path down your chest, gentle and slow as if savoring each inch of your skin.

“I…” A shuddered breath interrupted your murmur. His hand came around to steady you, to stroke over the curve of your hip and remind you that he was there, loving you. “I want that too, Jolly,” you breathed out finally, meeting his gaze.

He paused, silver eyes locking with yours for a moment before they jumped to your lips and back up again. “You sure?”

A small smile lifted a corner of your mouth as you nodded. “Yes.”

His kiss was hotter this time, deeper, but still filled with the same reverence as before. You got lost in him as the bus fell silent around you, all the chaotic noise disappearing until there was only him.

Jolly’s kiss grew firmer, but the tenderness never wavered. Every press of his lips said, ‘You don’t owe me this, and yet I’m beyond grateful you’re here.’

His body settled against yours, solid and warm without ever crowding you–a stark contrast to before. He was here simply to cherish you.

He drew back just enough to catch your gaze, eyes bright and breathless. His thumb traced along your lower lip, then drifted to your cheek as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“You make me feel like I can be soft,” he whispered. “Like I don’t have to be anyone but me. And yours.” His voice cracked on that last word. Yours.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “How often I’ve thought about you… as if I matter to you.”

His hands slid down, one curling gently around your thigh while the other rested over your ribs, thumb tracing the steady beat of your heart.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You always were, but like this… letting me touch you so freely… I just…”

He kissed you again, a trembling, tender kiss that sparkled with emotion until your eyes stung.

“Let me love you,” he pleaded softly.

You nodded again, words caught in your throat.

He took his time; pausing as if to memorize every second, and then eased himself between your legs. His mouth moved slowly and deliberately, drawing soft moans from you. Each gentle flick of his tongue against your folds made you gasp his name; and with every gasp, his fingers brushed down your thigh, grounding you while your body teetered on the edge.

With each shake of your hips Jolly sighed heavily, relishing in giving you pleasure that focused solely on you- like getting you off was the only reward he craved. He lingered until your legs shook, tasting you through your orgasm as your hands gripped the faux leather couch.

When he finally rose, he looked spent. His hair was tousled, eyes shining, and lips still glistening from your arousal. He leaned down again, pressing a long, deep kiss full of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

++

The final week of tour went by quickly.

Despite the tension that still lingered between you all, it had become a bit less pointed and more bearable as the days passed. The shows were flawless, your heart lightening when you saw them meshing seamlessly on stage every night. There were no arguments or heated spats backstage. But there was also an unusual distance between you all.

You spent most of your time alone, busying yourself with technical stuff until you were far too exhausted to think. Matt would still accompany you silently, his subtle presence at your side oddly comforting even in the heavy silence. Ruffilo was unusually quiet during the last few shows, his eyes always lingering on you when he thought you weren't looking. Noah had kept his distance ever since that talk, though he did attempt a conversation every now and then.

It was Jolly who tried to bridge the gap between you guys, his efforts evident in the little gestures he offered: small notes left for you with words of encouragement, coffee brewed just the way you like it, random compliments; all subtle attempts to soften the tension. On the other hand, Folio was relatively silent, observing from a distance but his gaze always held an unwavering warmth.

All the boys had been giving you space to think things through while dealing with their own feelings individually.

The last day of tour arrived sooner than any of you had anticipated. The show ended with a standing ovation, the crowd cheering for an encore that left everyone breathless and drenched in sweat.

Backstage, amidst the laughter and congratulatory hugs for a successful tour, you found yourself locking eyes with Noah- heavy with resolution and sincerity.

His gaze softened when you offered a small smile, mirroring his own.

As the rest of the band began to pack up their gear, he approached you quietly, uncertainty tugging at his brows. "Hey," he said gently when he was close enough.

"Hey," you replied, your heart fluttering slightly at his presence. He nodded, fidgeting with his shirt as he looked around for a moment before meeting your gaze again.

"I just wanted to say…” His voice was low, almost apprehensive, “That I miss you. And thank you for working so hard on this tour with us. I appreciate you.”

His words washed over you, and the tension you'd been carrying for weeks seemed to uncoil, little by little. You blinked at him, taken aback but genuinely touched. “I… thanks, Noah.”

He scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “It’s…” He paused, shaking his head slightly. “It’s too quiet without your company.”

Your lips twitched upwards in a soft smile, and you stepped closer, resting your hand lightly on his arm. “You weren’t exactly that big of a chatterbox before.”

His gaze fell to your hand on his arm, and then travelled back up to meet yours.

"I miss us all actually talking," he admitted quietly. "I miss how we used to be around each other in comfortable, casual...fun." The word lingered in the air, intwined with a heavy dose of regret.

“I miss that too,” you confessed, offering him a small yet sincere smile.

His gaze softened at your confession, the remnants of tension disappearing from his form.

Silence fell over the two of you as the reality of the tour ending sunk in, melancholic and bittersweet. But there was also an inkling of hope, painting your hearts with delicate hues.

Another voice then broke the quiet. Folio approached both of you, carrying a water bottle and what appeared to be a small piece of lightly toasted bread spread with jam.

“I noticed you didn't eat earlier,” he explained upon seeing your surprised expression.

Your heart fluttered at his attention to detail, and at the caring gesture. Noah’s gaze darted between you and Folio, though he remained silent.

“Thank you, Nick,” you smiled warmly, taking it from him.

Folio gave you a small smile, his gaze lingering longer than expected. “You’re welcome,” he responded, the tightness in his chest easing your words.

Noah watched as Folio moved away, nodding his approval before turning back to you. “Eat,” he urged, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I will, mom.”

He chuckled at the tease, watching as you took a small bite.

Averting your eyes, you noticed Ruffilo and Matt conversing lightly while packing up the equipment. Ruffilo looked up, meeting your gaze. He sent you a small nod and a smile your way which made your heart flutter. In his own silent way, he was still apologizing- acknowledging what had been done and promising to make it right.

“Come join us for some drinks at the pool?” Jolly asked, interrupting your thoughts. He padded towards you with an inviting smile on his face. The offer was casual yet laden with hope– hope that you might finally be able to break free of this uncomfortable silence that had dominated the past week.

“You sure?” You asked, taking a sip of water. Jolly nodded, patting Noah’s shoulder.

“An evening swim at the Karlsson-Sebastian manor? Wouldn’t be worth it without you.”

After a moment hesitation, you accepted, “Alright.”

A soft smile stretched across Jolly’s face as he clapped a firm hand onto Noah’s back. “Great! Let’s get packed and then ditch this place. We deserve a beer.”

Once everyone made it back to Noah and Jolly’s place, you sighed. Despite years of memories at this house, things felt different now.

After changing and grabbing a towel from the bathroom closet, you found your way to the backyard. The soft fairy lights around the pool illuminated the sprawling space, lending it a tranquil vibe. Noah was already in the pool, his form illuminated by the underwater lights, casting an ethereal glow onto his skin. Matt and Ruffilo were lounging on the pool chairs, beers in their hands and engaged in light conversation. Folio was starting a fire to prepare hot dogs, while Jolly was busy setting up a portable stereo.

As you stepped closer, they fell silent- every pair of eyes on you. It physically pained you to see them all looking so repentant and unsure, as if one wrong move would send you running.

You cleared your throat, feeling more than a little awkward under their gaze. "Hey," was all you managed, offering them a small smile.

Sitting on the edge of the pool, you dipped your legs in, grateful the water was heated.

"Could you pass one of those over?" you asked, pointing to the beers in Matt's hand.

"Course," he replied, reaching for a bottle and tossing it to you with a soft smile. Catching it, you took comfort in the familiar action.

Noah watched you from the corner of the pool, his eyes shyly darting away every now and then.

"Just come here,” You said between sips of the drink, fighting back a laugh.

Noah huffed out a laugh, before nodding and swimming over to join you by the edge. He kept just enough distance to respect your personal space while still making his presence known. This close, you could make out the faint freckles splashed across his shoulders, illuminated by the pool lights.

“I like your swimsuit,” he commented suddenly, eyes flicking briefly over your figure.

Your cheeks heated up with a faint warmth. “You picked it out, remember?”

His lips curled up in a sheepish grin. “Right.”

Ruffilo walked over slowly, taking a seat next to you. Placing his legs in the water next to yours, he swayed them gently, focusing on the small waves that formed.

"Mind if I join you?" His voice was soft, almost inaudible over the soft lullaby of the wind.

You glanced over at him, scanning his bare torso briefly.

"Not at all," you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

He braced himself by placing an arm on the cement behind your back, closing the proximity gently.

You didn’t move away.

“You looked like you needed a buffer,” Ruffilo said quietly, gaze fixed ahead on the shimmering surface of the pool. “Or maybe just… someone who wasn’t afraid to sit close.”

You exhaled, the beer bottle cool between your fingers. “Is it that obvious?”

He tilted his head toward you. “Only to someone who’s been feeling the same thing.”

You leaned back on your palms, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “And what are you feeling, Nicky?”

His mouth quirked up, more wistful than playful. “Like I miss you.”

You leaned into his side, agreeing, “I miss you. I miss all of you.” Your gaze flickered from him back to Noah wading in front of you.

And then the singer’s voice broke through, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Can I come closer?”

You blinked, looking down to see him treading water just below your feet. His eyes were wide. Hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

With a quiet splash, he moved between your legs and rested his arms on your knees, the position causing your stomach to swirl.

“I’m glad we are home,” he murmured. “And that you’re here.”

Jolly appeared near the fire, adjusting the volume of the music, but you felt his eyes flicker toward the three of you-watching, waiting, like he didn’t want to intrude but didn’t want to be left behind either, now that you were finally opening up.

Matt tossed another log onto the fire and leaned back on his chair. “So,” he called casually, breaking the tension with ease, “do we want a hot dog now or after we pretend we’re all fine?”

Everyone snorted—even you—and just like that, the tension cracked a little.

You glanced at Noah. “What do you think? Hot dog first, or bonding in chlorinated water?”

He let out a genuine laugh, leaning his head against your knee now, the contact grounding. “Why not both?”

Ruffilo slid into the water, and reached out a hand toward you.

“Coming in?”

You looked at Noah. Then up at Jolly, who met your gaze with a question in his eyes but a warm smile on his lips.

You placed your beer next to you with a nod, allowing both Noah and Ruffilo lead you into the pool.

The water was warm as it closed around you, taking the edge off the cool night air. Noah’s arm slid around your waist, holding you steady as Ruffilo backed off a little, creating room for you to join him while keeping a respectful distance.

“Everything feels better in water,” He said while effortlessly floating onto his back. He winked at you, and you burst into laughter.

Your laugh seemed to brighten the entire poolside, and even Folio glanced over from his spot by the fire to give you a wide smile.

It wasn’t long before you sucked in a shaky breath, ready to speak your truth about what you wanted.

“I’m sorry for being so distant the last week- but thank you for giving me space.”

Ruffilo and Noah watched you warmly, nodding.

Noah rubbed his thumb gently over your hip beneath the water. “You don’t need to apologize. We just wanted you to come back when you were ready.”

“And you did,” Ruffilo added, eyes soft but intense. “That’s all that matters to me.”

You looked between them, and your next words swam up before you could swallow them. “I want all of us to work. I want you all to be mine, and I will be all of yours. You’ve already shown me you’re willing to work on the jealousy- and I want to grow with all of you.”

Ruffilo’s expression cracked, something fierce and vulnerable shining through. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, water dripping down his forearm as he leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“I’ve wanted to hear you say that since the night we all fell apart,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for giving us the chance to prove we can be what you need.”

Noah pressed closer against your back, arms around you like he couldn’t bear to let go now that he finally had permission to hold you like this. “You have no idea how hard it was… watching you from afar this week.”

You let your hands float up, resting one against Ruffilo’s chest and the other curled behind Noah’s head. “Trust me…It wasn’t easy for me either.”

Then Ruffilo kissed you. Not a careful kiss-a kiss full of hunger, weeks of restraint melting into one needy, heated moment. His mouth opened against yours, tongue teasing, while his hand sliding down your back beneath the water, gripping your hip like he didn’t want to let go.

Noah groaned softly behind you. His hands tightened around your waist, as they slid slowly up your ribs, under your top. His lips kissed your shoulder, then your jaw, while Ruffilo kissed your mouth greedier.

You let yourself be held between them, hands skimming along wet skin in the pool, bodies pressed against you from front and back like they needed to memorize you. Every touch felt like a plea- stay, choose us, let this be real.

Ruffilo broke the kiss just long enough to pant, “Can I touch you more? Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, eyes heavy with lust. “Please don’t stop.”

Noah’s voice dropped low. “Let us show you how much we missed you.”

The water rippled around you as Ruffilo’s hands slid lower, over the curve of your ass, his forehead pressed to your temple now. Noah’s mouth was on your shoulder again, teeth grazing lightly.

You were shaking—not from fear, but from the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

“I-I know I said I didn’t just want to be seen as a toy,” you murmured against Ruffilo’s lips, voice trembling with need. Then you pulled back just enough to spin toward Noah, crashing your mouth onto his like you couldn’t stand one more second apart.“But I really need you to use me right now.”

Noah kissed you like he was starving, his tongue claiming yours, hand sliding up your thigh underwater to the place you ached most. “I’ve been thinking about this pussy every goddamn night,” he growled against your lips. “Dreaming about how it feels around my fingers… my cock…”

Behind you, Ruffilo’s breath hitched. He pulled you tighter against his chest, his arms wrapped strong around your middle. “You think we didn’t smell how fucking sweet you were when you walked away?” His fingers drifted lower under the water, brushing your ass with a possessive squeeze. “You left us hard, baby. Hurting.”

Noah’s teeth caught your jaw, voice rough and wrecked. “No one touches you like we do. No one knows this body like we do.” His tattooed fingers finally found your core, slick and eager. “You’re so fucking wet for us.”

“For us,” Ruffilo echoed, reverent and raw. “God, you missed us too, didn’t you?”

Your head fell back against his shoulder, the confession pulled from your lips like a prayer. “Yes-fuck, yes. I missed you. All of you.”

Noah’s mouth dragged down your neck, every kiss a brand. “Say it again. Say you missed our cocks. Say you missed being full.”

Your thighs clenched on instinct, but Ruffilo held your hips firm, keeping you open for Noah.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, hot breath at your ear. “Let us in, baby. Let us show you why you don’t have to choose.”

Noah’s finger finally slid between your folds, sinking into your body like it belonged there. “We’re gonna take our time with you tonight. Stretch you open slow. Remind this pretty pussy exactly who gets to fuck it.”

His voice dropped lower. “All five of us.”

You whimpered, body trembling between them, completely theirs.

Ruffilo nuzzled your temple, whispering like a vow, “You belong to us, pretty girl. And we’re so fucking lucky to have you.”

Jolly and Folio now stood by the edge, watching with hungry eyes.

“There’s our girl,” Jolly mumbled, unable to take his eyes off Noah and Ruffilo. The two had pulled your swimsuit off, leaving you naked within their grasp.

You wrapped your legs around Ruffilo’s body, facing him now. The boys switched hands, Ruffilo quickly sinking his fingers into your body to replace where Noah once was.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Noah whispered, chewing on your neck while his hand wrapped around to circle your clit. The water around you rippled as Ruffilo pumped his fingers in and out, and your back arched into Noah in attempt to rut your hips forward, against his strokes.

Your eyes squeezed shut as your orgasm built- but you couldn’t let yourself cum without another one of your boys.

“Matt?” You croaked, voice strained in pleasure. The blonde slid into the pool without hesitation, swimming up to the three of you.

"Yes?”

Your lidded eyes yearned for him, “Kiss me.”

He smiled, radiant, before grabbing your jaw firmly. With his lips latched onto yours, deliciously desperate, you moaned between the three of them.

Ruffilo flashed you a slutty smile as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, a string of curses leaving his lips when he felt you clench around him, “God- I can’t wait till it’s my cock you’re cumming around.”

You laughed lowly, brows furrowing as you attempted to move with Ruffilo’s pace- but Noah and Matt held you firmly.

“You wanna cum?” Matt murmured against your throat, voice thick with dominance.

You could only whimper, nodding helplessly.

“Then tell us,” Noah purred, dragging his hand away from your core, leaving you empty, aching. “Tell us how bad you want our cocks.”

A sharp cry escaped you, hips twitching, desperate from the denial. The slow fade of your orgasm was agonizing-and perfect.

“Please-fuck-I need to cum. Please, please,” you gasped, every word a desperate prayer.

Ruffilo pulled his fingers out, slow and wet, and Matt’s hand came up to wrap around your throat, claiming. “What did Noah ask you, princess?”

Your eyes fluttered open, landing on Folio and Jolly now perched at the edge of the pool, fists working over their cocks through soaked swim shorts; their eyes devouring the show in front of them.

You licked your lips, voice cracking but honest. “I want your fucking cocks so bad. All of you. I need to be filled in every fucking hole. Please.”

Noah's teeth grazed your ear, breath hot and cruel. Ruffilo's fingers slid back into you with purpose, while Matt’s grip tightened around your throat just enough to send stars dancing across your vision.

You came instantly; unraveling with a strangled moan, held tightly in their arms as waves of pleasure were earned.

Strong hands gripped your waist, and before you could fully recover, Noah was lifting you effortlessly out of the water, your skin slick and shimmering in the moonlight. You gasped as the cool air hit your heated body, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“You think we’re done with you?” he muttered, voice husky, walking toward the patio door like you weighed nothing. “You begged for all our cocks. That means you’re not cumming alone again.”

The sliding door slammed open, and the rest of them followed, silent except for the wet shuffle of footsteps and low, ragged breathing.

They didn’t take you to the bedroom.

Noah dropped you onto the cold granite countertop of the kitchen island, the contrast sending a jolt through your spine. You barely had time to steady yourself before Ruffilo was between your thighs again, pushing them open with no finesse, no patience.

Matt pulled a barstool up, sitting back and stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart. “Look at her,” he murmured, voice low. “She’s already ruined.”

“She’s not even close to ruined,” Noah said darkly, dragging his towel over his head and tossing it aside. “But she will be.”

Folio took Ruffilo’s place, pushing your stomach gently so you laid back against the counter, while pressing your legs open he his face between your legs with a groan so guttural you felt hot.

Your moan echoed off the kitchen tile; and Folio licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, savoring it, letting his tongue dip into you before curling up to flick your clit. A rhythm so patient and deliberate it drove you wild.

“F-fuck, Nick—” You gasped, knuckles white on the counter’s edge.

He didn’t stop, and didn’t even lift his eyes. Just ate you like he needed to, like tasting your arousal was oxygen. The drummers fingers dug into your ass to keep you spread wide while he devoured you relentlessly.

Ruffilo groaned behind you. “I swear he could make someone cum just by breathing on them.”

“I think he’s trying,” Noah said, walking past to get a drink from the fridge, like you weren’t moaning and trembling on his countertop. “She’s shaking already.”

Matt came up beside you, sliding your hair off your face and pressing a kiss to your temple. “How’s it feel, princess?”

“Good-fuck-it’s so good….”

Folio added two fingers, curling them expertly into your sweet spot while his mouth sucked your clit. You sobbed, legs almost giving out. Only his grip kept you upright.

“He’s gonna make her cum,” Jolly said, eyes gleaming.

“She deserves to,” Ruffilo added, stepping behind Matt.

Folio sucked harder, curling his fingers and your whole body seized.

You moaned loudly, legs trembling as another orgasm tore through you like lightning. He didn’t stop until you were completely still, a withering mess on the marble.

And only then did he stand; chin glistening, lips wet, eyes dark with lust.

“Now,” he said softly, “we fuck her.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jolly pulled you off the counter, carrying you into the living room.

“Couch,” he whispered against your ear. “Let me and Matt take you properly.”

They guided you through the open concept space, the low lighting casting a warm glow over the soft throw blankets and deep cushions. You barely touched the floor, passed between their hands like a treasure they weren’t ready to share with the world. Only each other.

Matt flopped down first, already naked, cock resting heavy against his stomach. “Right here, baby,” he said, patting his lap. “Come sit and let us all see you.”

You climbed onto him slowly, straddling his thighs. He gripped your hips with both hands, firm but loving, guiding your body like it was sacred. The others circled; Ruffilo beside you, Noah dropping to his knees in front again, Jolly behind you.

“You still want us?” Noah asked, his hand running up your calf, your knee, your thigh.

“Every single one of you,” you breathed.

That was all it took.

Jolly moved to the side, kissing up your shoulder while Ruffilo leaned in to clasp your lips on his. Noah stayed in front, letting Matt hold you open while he licked at your clit again, slower this time, just teasing.

You were already so sensitive you whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily.

“Look at you,” Matt cooed, brushing your hair back as Jolly slid a hand up your spine. “Fucked-out and still greedy.”

You nodded eagerly, relishing in the feeling of their worship. This was everything you ever wanted and more- your boys.

Matt nodded at Noah to pull away from your core, helping him spin you around so you sat on Matt’s lap, facing him.

Without hesitation, you sunk onto his cock, the feeling euphoric.

The blonde’s face contorted as he chewed on his lip, drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around him once again.

“It’s been so long,” He groaned, hand grabbing your neck again, “You want a cock inside your other hole?”

Ruffilo didn’t waste time. “Get her ready,” he told Noah, who was already between your legs again, kissing the inside of your thigh like he’d missed it.

Jolly shifted behind you, helping you lean forward, draping your arms around Matt’s shoulders while he kissed you slow, tongue curling over yours, messy and unhurried.

“Relax, baby,” Noah whispered, brushing his thumb over your other hole. “Let me stretch you.”

You nodded against Matt’s lips, heart racing as Noah spat onto his fingers, spreading the wetness, and began working you open gently. One finger, then two, his touch was precise but soft, knowing exactly how to make you squirm.

“She’s taking it so well,” Jolly murmured behind you, palms roaming your waist and thighs.

“Yeah, she is,” Folio said, voice awed. “So fucking good for us.”

Matt groaned beneath you as your body rocked between their touches, the press of Noah’s fingers inside your ass while Matt’s cock pulsed deep in your pussy. You clenched around both, crying out into the crook of his neck.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, rutting up into you while Noah slid another finger in. “You’re gonna take us both, aren’t you?”

“Please,” you gasped, eyes glossy. “I want to feel full.”

Jolly ran his hands down your back, eyes locked on the way Noah’s fingers disappeared into your ass, the way Matt’s cock stretched your soaked cunt.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he said lowly, voice like gravel against your spine. “Stuffed full. Fucking helpless for us.”

“I want you Jolly,” you whimpered, barely able to form words as Noah twisted his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt.

He grinned at that. “Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his cock against your thigh. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart? You already look like you’re on the edge.”

“I can,” you breathed, eyes glassy. “Please.”

“Of course you can,” he cooed, “You were made for this. For us.”

Noah slowly pulled his fingers free, slick and careful. “She’s ready.”

Jolly kissed the corner of your mouth, then guided you forward, urging you to lean more into Matt’s chest. Matt wrapped his arms around you, holding you steady, murmuring encouragement against your cheek as Jolly pressed the blunt head of his cock against your ass, slick and open from Noah’s fingers.

And when he started pushing in, slow and deliberate, you cried out- a sound caught between pain and absolute pleasure.

“Fuck, baby,” Jolly growled, hands digging into your hips, “God, you feel insane. So tight.”

Matt was already panting, knuckles white on your thighs. “Tightest thing I’ve ever felt,” he groaned. “She’s fucking squeezing us—”

Folio knelt beside you, kissing your neck, brushing hair from your face, whispering, “That’s our girl. Look at you-so fucking full, and still not satisfied, huh?”

You shook your head, “N-no. Please let me taste you.”

He let out a ragged breath, his hand cupping your cheek as he met your eyes- blown wide, pupils dark with want. “You’re fucking unbelievable,” he whispered, voice cracking with need. “Still begging, even like this?”

You nodded, lips parted, breath shallow. “Need you, Nick. Wanna taste you while they fuck me.”

That was all it took.

He stood up just enough to free himself, his cock flushed and leaking, already painfully hard from watching the others take you apart. He guided himself to your lips, groaning when you opened eagerly, tongue out.

“Good girl,” he hissed, hand sliding into your hair as he fed himself into your mouth, slow at first. “So eager.”

You moaned around him, the weight of his cock on your tongue making your eyes roll back. Matt thrust up into you with a growl, while Jolly gave a brutal snap of his hips that made your whole body lurch.

Folio held your head steady, fucking your mouth with shallow rolls of his hips. “That’s it,” he gasped. “Take me like you’re made for it-like that.”

You were lost in it, surrounded by them, used and praised and filled from every angle. Jolly’s pace quickened behind you, his grip bruising, and Matt’s thighs were trembling under you, his face buried in your neck.

“Fuck,” Matt choked, “You’re gonna make me cum, you’re so tight, so wet.”

You moaned in response, mouth full of Folio’s cock, your throat vibrating around him.

Jolly leaned in close, voice guttural. “Gonna fill that pretty ass, baby. Can you take it? Can you come like this?”

Your muffled whimper was all the answer he needed.

Folio pulled out for a moment, letting you gasp for air, then pressed a messy kiss to your lips. “You taste so fucking good like this,” he murmured. “Ruined and needy.”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered. “Please—don’t stop.”

And they didn’t.

Matt filled your pussy with ropes of his release, but he continued to fuck his cum back into you while waiting for Jolly. The swede was seconds later, pulling out to coat your ass in strings of his own while Folio released down your throat, holding you still to swallow all of him.

Matt, Jolly, and Folio slowly eased back, panting and spent, their hands still tracing every inch of your skin as they let Noah and Ruffilo take over.

You moaned into Noah’s lips as he carried you up the stairs, relishing in the taste of your tongue.

“Should we take you in the shower?” He asked and your stomach burned, legs shaky.

You shook your head, breath catching. “Not yet… I need a moment.”

Ruffilo’s fingers trailed lightly down your spine as Noah set you down gently on the bed. They both hovered close, watching you with hungry eyes.

“No rush,” Noah said softly. “Right now, we want you-wanna taste you.”

Your lips curved into a slow, sultry smile. “Then let me return the favor.”

You crawled between them, knees sinking into the soft sheets, fingers tracing the contours of their bodies as they lay back, offering themselves to you.

Your lips found Noah first, pressing kisses along his collarbone, down his chest, teasing over the hard planes of his stomach, tasting every inch you’d been craving.

Ruffilo’s hand tangled in your hair, guiding you toward his own body.

You took your time, savoring the taste of them once your lips wrapped around each of their arousals in turn. The heat rose between your mouth and hands, fingers kneading and stroking.

Noah’s breath hitched as you traced slow, teasing circles with your tongue, his hips shifting slightly to meet your mouth.

Ruffilo groaned low, fingers tightening in your hair when your tongue dragged across Noah’s length onto his own.

“You’re so good to us,” Noah murmured, voice thick with want as he watched Ruffilo fill your mouth.

“And you deserve every bit,” you whispered back between strokes, looking up at their flushed faces.

Sucking them for a couple minutes longer, both boys a whimpering mess, you then motioned for them to take you to the shower.

Noah immediately held you against the cool tile, back pressed firmly against it as he positioned himself between your legs in no time.

His fingers dug into your hips as his thrusts were relentless, his cock filling you up, just as Matt’s had prior. Ruffilo took the detachable shower head, flicking the setting to the jet stream before aiming it against your clit.

"No-oh!" You cried out, thighs squeezing around Noah as you held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles.

Ruffilo’s free hand traced circles around one of your nipples, thumb tweaking the sensitive bud before leaning in to latch his mouth onto your breast. His skilled tongue swirled around the hardened peak, sucking and nipping while he showered your clit with constant stimulation.

Each thrust Noah made had you gasping for air, your climax already building at an intense pace.

“You can’t cum until it’s around Nicks cock, you hear me?”

You whined, shaking your head, “Please Noah-”

“No.” He said firmly, arms shaking as his body tightened. You held on as much as you could, limbs shaking so fiercely you thought you would break in half.

Noah then stopped, burying himself deeper into you as his own release painted your walls. He held onto you, a chant of curses tumbling from his lips before he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, spent.

Ruffilo instantly took over, passing the shower head to Noah.

His cock slid into you easily, pulling a surprised whimper from your lips as he stretched you all over again.

"Tight- despite four others," He growled, burying himself to the hilt. His rough voice raspier due to steam fogging the bathroom quickly. Ruffilo’s pace was frantic, matching the chaos of the water that splashed rapidly against your desire.

Your body thrashed against the cool tile, and in no time, thanks to Ruffilo and the shower head, orgasmic cries rolled off your lips as both boys pushed you into another powerful climax.

“That’s our good fucking girl,” Noah praised, eyes bright with a slutty smile as he watched you come undone. Ruffilo followed shortly, filling you again.

Neither Ruffilo nor Noah let you slide to the floor as exhaustion took over, holding you against the tiled wall. They gave you a minute to catch your breath before they started to wash away the remnants of the evening. The delicate touch of Ruffilo’s soapy hands along each crevice and curve contrasted with the firm strokes of Noah’s hands as he lathered up your hair.

After drying off, they brought you back to the room where Matt and Jolly were waiting on the bed. It was cozy, inviting- their easy intermingling making your heart flutter as brightly as it had when you all had first started.

Folio snuck up from behind and scooped you into his arms, carrying you to the bed as you laughed gently. He laid you down in between Matt and Jolly, who both moved to accommodate everyone else.

Everyone was quiet as the sound of heavy breathing cascaded around the bedroom, the five of them enveloping you in a comforting cuddle puddle.

As Folio’s warm hand traced the dip of your hip, he began to move closer. "Can I?" he asked, eyes meeting yours for permission, his bare chest pressed softly against your side. You nodded, shivering as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss; that was kinder than before.

The sound of soft laughter from the others made you break away from the kiss. Noah, who had gone through all the trouble of making his way into bed beside Matt, was extended out on his belly, reaching forward like a child eager for a toy.

"Wanna hold your hand," he mumbled sheepishly while stretching across Matt's body to reach for you. Ruffilo playfully swatted at him but relinquished your hand anyway.

While Noah was content with just threading his fingers between yours, the satisfied hum from his chest making you smile softly, Jolly had other ideas. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he hauled you on top of him. His nimble fingers drew invisible lines against your spine, lulling you into a peaceful daze.

“We love you,” Ruffilo whispered, staring at you with admiration. You slowly locked eyes with each of your lovers, giving them a smile.

“I love you. Every, single, one of you.”

Matt, feeling left out, with an amused glint in his eyes, suggested, "We should get under the covers." Everyone hummed in agreement, and without any further preamble they fitted themselves around you like living, breathing puzzle pieces.

Each had their unique way of holding you, but every touch conveyed the same message; reassurance that they were there for you and only you. The entwined limbs beneath the duvet were a testament to their promise to make things work for your sake. Because you were more than worth it.

Despite the relationship being unconventional and tangled, it didn't diminish its perfection for the six of you. The dynamics were complex, like an intricate dance with unexpected steps, yet it felt just right. There would be challenges ahead, sure; but each was committed to overcoming them together.

And, in the end- you were glad that all of this was more than just the bet.

thank you all again so much for reading this mini-series; and I'm so sorry again that it took so long to get this part out, especially since part 3 was a cliff hanger. I appreciate you all <3 (also will be going through and editing better- I rushed the smut since I wanted to get this out today!)

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@foliosgirl @blackveilomens @xserenax-13 @dsireland86 @99png

@calleyx13 @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @rumoured-whispers

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@renegadebirch

[peasack]

i actually love your writing so so much it like makes me feel so happy lol. i was wondering if possible could you write like how thunderbolts would handle reader having a bad mental health day? <3

This is a pretty heavy topic so to anyone who struggles with this, at the end I've posted a link to a daily affirmations post. Stay safe and love you all.

Enjoy<33

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts Helping You During a Bad Mental Health Day Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ John Walker

He’s really good at just being there.

He knows better than to push you to talk. He’ll hang around the common area, leave food or drinks nearby, and check in with soft “You good?”

Subtly makes sure you eat, drink, and breathe.

Will offer quiet things to do together like playing cards, folding laundry, or organizing tools, stuff that doesn’t demand much from you but still makes you feel less alone.

If you want to just sit in the same room with him while he fixes something or attempt at fixing his taco shield, he’ll absolutely let you.

✦ Bob Reynolds

Been there done that, so he knows exactly what to do to at least brighten your day a little.

Leaves little gifts like your favorite hoodie, snacks, or even a dumb doodle he drew.

Is the king of soft comfort. If you start crying, he doesn’t overreact. He just quietly hugs you and lets you cry it out without trying to solve it.

Tries to crack soft jokes like “Hey, I’m not exactly the poster boy for stability either.”

He’ll quietly suggest building a pillow fort or watching cartoons. It’s low-pressure and silly, which he hopes will help.

✦ Bucky Barnes

A+ at silent support.

If you go nonverbal or just don’t feel like talking, he sits near you without asking questions.

He might give you a soft pat on the back or hand you something small to fidget with.

Has the kind of steady, calming energy that’s really comforting on bad days.

He won’t force conversation. But if you do talk, he’ll listen like you’re the most important thing in the room.

Will quietly make sure nobody else overwhelms you.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

His first instinct is to fix things, which doesn’t always help, but he’s trying.

Brings you food like “You must eat! Food is power!”

If you seem overwhelmed, he’ll awkwardly offer to watch old Soviet cartoons or wrestle with pillows to make you laugh.

He’s big and warm, so his hugs feel like body shields.

Genuinely thinks the best way to help you is to make you feel safe, even if he’s terrible at the soft emotional stuff.

✦ Ava Starr

She gets it. She’s had her own battles with pain and isolation.

If you don’t want to talk, she’ll sit nearby and read or listen to music with you.

She’s calm, never pushy. She has this grounding presence that makes you feel like you’re not spiraling alone.

Leaves your favorite comfort items near you without saying anything.

If you need to leave a crowded room, she’s already standing up to walk you out without making a scene.

✦ Yelena Belova

Absolutely the “I will fight the entire world for you” type.

But on bad mental health days, she tones it way down. She’ll offer cuddles, space, or both, depending on what you need.

Good at finding funny videos or dumb things to distract you.

Will lowkey threaten anyone who bothers you that day.

Occasionally checks in with a soft “You’re still with me, yes?” and it’s not a question you need to answer, but she says it like she’s reminding you she’s not going anywhere.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

For anyone who struggles with these issues, you are not alone. There are always people out there who can help you or grand you care.

Just in case some people need it, here's an Daily affirmations post with a list of things you could do daily to attempt at staying well even through hard times.

I love you all and if you struggle with things you can't say out loud, dm me. It doesn't matter to me whether you just wanna have a talk or need to vent, I'd rather give care than have you guys struggle on your own.

Love you all and stay safe<333

[yinyuedijun]

phainon wip snippet that i may or may not delete

posting this at @nazberry-icecream's request. I will be real with you guys I drafted this while drunk/high last night and I'm not sure what to do with it because it's. good in some places but it's also incredibly bad in others and the canon accuracy is questionable. I'm not sure if it's salvageable SLKDFJLJSDf

canon context: bath tub is from this event

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

Phainon realizes that he’s in love with you at age nineteen, on the day he catches you running through Marmoreal Palace in nothing but a towel and pair of wet slippers. You're waving at him, calling his name, your skin still damp with bathwater and a sunlit smile stretched across your face. For a minute, he thinks he’s hallucinating—dreaming, probably, though usually his dreams about you wearing next to nothing aren’t nearly so ridiculous—but the way you grip him by the shoulders feels too real to be a fantasy.

The way you wheeze and cough at him, too.

���I’ve found you a birthday present,” you say, and he can tell from your voice that you’re dead serious.

“Oh,” he replies. He can't think of anything else to say when confronted with the image of you panting and holding onto him in nothing but a towel.

“I need to give it to you now,” you tell him.

He blinks. Then laughs. “Now?”

“Now.”

“You don’t want to put on clothes first?”

“I don’t need to have clothes on to give this to you.”

Alright. Phainon must be dreaming. There is no way in his real, actual life that you’d ever give him a present while intentionally this close to being naked. But he plays along with his incredibly shameful dream and laughs, “Sure.”

You’re excited to show him whatever you’ve found. Coming up with a birthday present for him is your worst nightmare, and one you struggle with every year. It makes me feel like a bad friend, you always moan. But I can’t ever think of anything good. You never want anything.

Phainon gives you suggestions each year, rattling them off in a list that never satisfies you. I could always use a new sword, he’d said, and you’d replied, I’m not going to get you something for your work. Then he tried, New armor could be nice, and you’d whined and replied, That’s what Aglaea wanted for you—she hates your sense of style, you know. As a last resort, he’d said, It would be nice to go to that new Aurelian restaurant together, and this time you’d scowled: That’s where I wanted to go! You don't even like Aurelian cuisine! And you always pay the bill when I’m not looking whenever we go out to eat—how am I supposed to let you pay for your own birthday meal!

Pretty easily, he’d replied cheerfully. All you have to do is sit there while I go pay.

You’d groaned.

Your birthday is about you! What do you want?! What would you like?!

“I like seeing you happy,” he always answers, smiling brightly—because it always gets you flustered, and he rather likes that too.

You think he's being insincere. You accuse him of being a terrible flirt, which he finds unfair, because he’s not flirting—he really does just like seeing you happy. He likes seeing you glow, kicking your feet and grinning in a way he’d have never been able to imagine back in the refugee camp. He was worried, for a long time, that you’d always be as miserable as the way you were back then. That you’d never want to eat. That you’d never want to talk. That you’d starve to death in silence, forever caught in the grip of the Flame Reaver—torn apart like the rest of Aedes Elysiae.

That Phainon would fail to protect you, the way he’d failed everyone else back home.

But you’d healed, eventually. Mostly. Sometimes Phainon catches you in moments of melancholy, a distance between you that he can’t figure out how to traverse. Catches you thinking about home, and your family, and all the other things you miss. He’ll give them back to you one day—you’ll see them all again when he ushers in the Era Nova, and he’ll be able to see you smile like never before—but it’ll be a long time until then. It’ll be a long time before he can deliver this wish of yours.

He guesses that it’s enough seeing you like this for now, though: beaming as you drag him through the palace, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the marble underneath you. You lead him into the bath house, and he’s so endeared that he plays along without even questioning it. More than happy to humour whatever’s got you bouncing with so much excitement.

He also plays along because he really wants to see the rest of this dream. He has high expectations for its course: you’re holding his hand, dragging him into a bath, wearing nothing but a flimsy little towel. It's clear where this is going.

But then it doesn’t go there.

You let go of Phainon’s hand, and you don’t drag him into the water, and you keep your towel on. Instead, you lead Phainon to a very old, very plain tub—a lacklustre sight in comparison to you—and gesture at it.

“Here,” you say smugly.

He stares. “You’re giving me a used bathtub?”

“I’m giving you a treasure. This old thing is made out of Sacred Tree Wood—can you believe it? I thought the attendant was full of it when she told me, but I inspected it and I’m pretty sure it’s the genuine article.”

“Huh,” Phainon says, still too distracted by the sight of you to really pay attention to any bathtub, sacred or not. You mistake this for fascination.

“Take a look for yourself,” you insist. “It’s most obvious if you look at the detailing inside the tub—here, let me show you—”

You climb into the tub, and your towel stays on, and you really do just show him all the characteristics of the wood hinting at its origins. Phainon can’t fathom it. He’s probably been spending too much time appraising antiques with Theodoros, and now his hobby’s invaded his favourite dreams. He needs to get another pastime.

He plays along anyway: “Sure,” he says, crouching down to peer at its make, his lips curled into a smile. “I'll take a look.”

Twenty minutes later, his eyes have gone wide and his jaw has gone slack. He lifts the bathtub with his bare hands and carries it out of the bath house, making a beeline to Theodoros’ shop—with you and a frazzled bath attendant in tow. You’re practically bouncing on your heels as Phainon receives his certificate of authenticity—and then you balk when he asks Theodoros how much he’ll get when he sells it.

You give him a betrayed look. “Are you really going to re-sell my gift?! I thought I'd finally found something you'd like!”

“I did like it,” he says. “And I’m going to sell it. I enjoy finding and appraising treasures, but I never really hang onto them. There are always better places for them to go.”

You give him a sullen look. “So you didn't like my gift.”

“No,” he says gently. “I loved it. This was a lot of fun, but it’d be a waste for me to actually keep a relic like this. It belongs in a place like Theodoros’ collection, where everyone can see it.”

You frown, clearly dissatisfied. “Then what kind of gift would you keep?”

Phainon shrugs. “There’s nothing I really need,” he answers truthfully, and the noise you make is so comical in its frustration that he realises instantly that this isn’t a dream. Despite the remarkable ability of his subconscious to recreate your body down to the most minute details (Phainon pays a great deal of attention to it in his waking hours, after all), it’s not that great at capturing your funnier idiosyncrasies. That scowl of yours—along with your long-time obsession with finding him the perfect birthday gift—can only be the genuine article.

He understands now that all of this is real. And because it is real, so too must be his desire to kiss you.

Phainon wants to grab you by the shoulders and kiss you in the middle of Marmoreal Market in his real, actual life; and he also wants to take you to the theatre and give you gifts and court you properly in his real, actual life; and he also wants to take you home and watch his parents fawn over you in his real, actual life. Because they’d have adored you. They’d have been excited about you. They’d have invited you over for suncakes and venison every night, and they’d have had you over for Oronyx prayers, and they’d have cried during his wedding with you. It was one of their biggest wishes for him to find someone nice and marry them properly, after all—and he can’t imagine anyone nicer than you.

They’d have loved you.

And they will love you some day, when he collects the last coreflame and delivers all of humanity into Era Nova. They’ll love you just like in all his dreams.