#i blink and then it's 2000 words later

[rockalillygirl]

Mamma mia here we go again…

So I have more thoughts because apparently there’s no bottom to the murderbot mindhole I’ve fallen down.

(Spoiler warning- minor stuff from several of the books, pls check tags etc.)

I’ve been reading a lot of things recently exploring Murderbot as an unreliable narrator, which I think is a cool result of System Collapse (because we all know our beloved MB is going through it in this one). There’s also been some interesting related discussion of MB’s distrust of and sometimes biased assessment/treatment of other constructs and bots.

And I’ve been reading a lot about CombatUnits! And I want to talk about them!!

Main thoughts can be summarized as follows:

We don’t see a lot about CombatUnits in the books, and I think what we do see from MB’s pov encourages the reader to view them as less sympathetic than other constructs.

I’m very skeptical of this portrayal for reasons.

The existence of CombatUnits makes me fucking sad and I have a lot of feelings about them!

I got introduced to the idea of MB as an unreliable narrator in a post by onironic It analyzes how in SC, MB seems to distrust Three to a somewhat unreasonable degree, and how it sometimes infantilizes Three or treats it the way human clients have treated it in the past. The post is Amazing and goes into way more detail, so pls go read it (link below):

https://www.tumblr.com/onironic/736245031246135296?source=share

So these ideas were floating around in my brain when I read an article Martha Wells recently published in f(r)iction magazine titled “Bodily Autonomy in the Murderbot Diaries”. I’ll link the article here:

(Rn the only way to access the article is to subscribe to the magazine or buy an e-copy of the specific issue which is $12)

In the article, Wells states that MB displaced its fear of being forced to have sex with humans onto the ComfortUnit in Artificial Condition. I think it’s reasonable to assume that MB also does this with other constructs. With Three, I think it’s more that MB is afraid if what it knows Three is capable of, or (as onironic suggests in their post and I agree with) some jealousy that Three seems more like what humans want/expect a rogue SecUnit to be.

But I want to explore how this can be applied to CombatUnits, specifically.

We don’t learn a lot about them in the books. One appears for a single scene in Exit Strategy, and that’s it. What little else we know comes from MB’s thoughts on them sprinkled throughout the series. To my knowledge, no other character even mentions them (which raises interesting questions about how widely-known their existence is outside of high-level corporate military circles).

When MB does talk about CombatUnits in the early books, it’s as a kind of boogeyman figure (the real “murderbots” that even Murderbot is afraid of). And then when one does show up in ES, it’s fucking terrifying! There’s a collective “oh shit” moment as both MB and the reader realize what it’s up against. Very quickly what we expect to be a normal battle turns into MB running for its life, desperately throwing up hacks as the CombatUnit slices through them just as fast. We and MB know that it wouldn’t have survived the encounter if its humans hadn’t helped it escape. So the CombatUnit really feels like a cut above the other enemies in the series.

And what struck me reading that scene was how the CombatUnit acts like the caricature of an “evil robot” that MB has taught us to question. It seems single-mindedly focused on violence and achieving its objective, and it speaks in what I’d call a “Terminator-esque” manner: telling MB to “Surrender” (like that’s ever worked) and responds to MB’s offer to hack its governor module with “I want to kill you” (ES, pp 99-100).

(Big tangent: Am I the only one who sees parallels between this and how Tlacey forces the ComfortUnit to speak to MB in AC? She makes it suggest they “kill all the humans” because that’s how she thinks constructs talk to each other (AC, pp 132-4). And MB picks up on it immediately. So why is that kind of talk inherently less suspicious coming from a CombatUnit than a ComfortUnit? My headcanon is that I’m not convinced the CombatUnit was speaking for itself. What if a human controller was making it say things they thought would be intimidating? Idk maybe I’ve been reading too many fics where CombatUnits are usually deployed with a human handler. There could be plenty of reasons why the CombatUnit would’ve talked like that. I’m just suspicious.)

(Also, disclaimer: I want to clarify before I go on that I firmly believe that even though MB seems to be afraid of CombatUnits and thinks they’re assholes, it would still advocate for them to have autonomy. I’m not trying to say that either MB or Wells sees CombatUnits as less worthy of personhood or freedom- because I feel the concept that “everything deserves autonomy” is very much at the heart of the series.)

So it’s clear from all of this that MB is scared of CombatUnits and distrusts them for a lot of reasons. I read another breathtaking post by @grammarpedant that gives a ton of examples of this throughout the books and has some great theories on why MB might feel this way. I’ll summarize the ones here that inspired me the most, but pls go read the original post for the full context:

https://www.tumblr.com/grammarpedant/703920247856562177?source=share

OP explains that SecUnits and CombatUnits are pretty much diametrically opposed because of their conflicting functions: Security safeguards humans, while Combat kills them. Of course these functions aren’t rigid- MB has implied that it’s been forced to be violent towards humans before, and I’m sure that extracting/guarding important assets could be a part of a CombatUnit's function. But it makes sense that MB would try to distance itself from being considered a CombatUnit, using its ideas about them to validate the parts of its own function that it likes (protecting people). OP gives what I think is the clearest example of this, which is the moment in Fugitive Telemetry when MB contrasts its plan to sneak aboard a hostile ship and rescue some refugees with what it calls a “CombatUnit” plan, which would presumably involve a lot more murder (FT, p 92).

This reminds me again of what Wells said in the f(r)iction article, that on some level MB is frightened by the idea that it could have been made a ComfortUnit (friction, p 44). I think the idea that it could’ve been a CombatUnit scares it too, and that’s why it keeps distinguishing itself and its function from them. But I think it’s important to point out, that in the above example from FT, even MB admits that the murder-y plan it contrasts with its own would be one made by humans for CombatUnits. So again we see that we just can’t know much about the authentic nature of CombatUnits, or any constructs with intact governor modules, because they don’t have freedom of expression. MB does suggest that CombatUnits may have some more autonomy when it comes to things like hacking and combat which are a part of their normal function. But how free can those choices be when the threat of the governor module still hangs over them?

I think it could be easy to fall into the trap of seeing CombatUnits as somehow more complicit in the systems of violence in the mbd universe. But I think that’s because we often make a false association between violence and empowerment, when even in our world that’s not always the case. But, critically, this can’t be the case for CombatUnits because they’re enslaved in the same way SecUnits and ComfortUnits are (though the intricacies are different).

There was another moment in the f(r)iction article that I found really chilling. Wells states that there’s a correlation between SecUnits that are forced to kill humans and ones that go rogue (friction, p 45). It’s a disturbing thought on its own, but I couldn’t help wondering then how many CombatUnits try to hack their governor modules? And what horrible lengths would humans go to to stop them? I refuse to believe that a CombatUnit’s core programming would make it less effected by the harm its forced to perpetrate. That might be because I’m very anti-deterministic on all fronts, but I just don’t buy it.

I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly about this. Of course, I find the situation of all constructs in mbd deeply upsetting. But the more I think about CombatUnits, the more heartbreaking their existence seems to me. There’s a very poignant moment in AC when MB compares ART’s function to its own to explain why there are things it doesn’t like about being a SecUnit (AC, p 33). In that scene, MB is able to identify some parts of its function that it does like, but I have a hard time believing a CombatUnit would be able to do the same. I’m not trying to say that SecUnits have it better (they don’t) (the situation of each type of construct is horrible in it’s own unique way). It’s just that I find the idea of construct made only for violence and killing really fucking depressing. I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of their day-to-day existence.

@grammarpedant made another point in their post that I think raises a TON of important questions not only about CombatUnits, but about how to approach the idea of “function” when it comes to machine intelligence in general. They explain that, in a perfect version of the mbd universe, there wouldn’t be an obvious place for CombatUnits the way there could be for SecUnits and ComfortUnits who wanted to retain their original functions. A better world would inherently be a less violent one, so where does that leave CombatUnits? Would they abandon their function entirely, or would they find a way to change it into something new?

I’ve been having a lot of fun imagining what a free CombatUnit would be like. But in some ways it’s been more difficult than I expected. I’ve heard Wells say in multiple interviews that one of her goals in writing Murderbot was to challenge people to empathize with someone they normally wouldn’t, and I find CombatUnits challenging in exactly that way. Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve felt differently about these books if MB had been a CombatUnit instead of a SecUnit. Would I have felt such an immediate connection to MB if its primary function before hacking its governor module had been killing humans, or if it didn’t have relatable hobbies like watching media? Or if it didn’t have a human face for the explicit purpose of making people like me more comfortable? I’m not sure that I would have.

Reading SC has got me interested in exploring the types of people that humans (or even MB itself) would struggle to accept. So CombatUnits are one of these and possible alien-intelligences are another. All this is merely a small sampling of the thoughts that have been swirling around in my brain-soup! So if anyone is interested in watching me fumble my way through these concepts in more detail, I may be posting “something” in the very near future!

Would really appreciate anyone else’s thoughts about all of THIS^^^^ It’s been my obsession over the holidays and helping me cope with family stress and flying anxiety.

[plutotheplum]

Socks and Kisses

leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: a spontaneous shopping trip has leon re-evaluating his friendship with you.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, spanking, oral sex, praise kink, fluff, friends/roommates to lovers, fantasizing

wc: 3.7k

also posted on ao3!

There’s a shriek leaving you when you trip over a bundle of shoes in the doorway. It nearly sends you hurtling towards the floor, but there’s an arm curling around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall. Leon.

You glare up at your roommate, shoving at his chest so it sends him stumbling.

“Seriously, Leon? How many times have I told you to put your shoes to the side of the doorway?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

He winces at your shrill voice, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I was busy,” he says, his eyes pleading with you, “you know with… with work.”

You’re shooting him an unimpressed look, pushing past him to put the groceries on the kitchen counter. It was your day to collect them anyways. Living with Leon had happened entirely by accident. One shittily written apartment listing later and the poor guy was standing outside your door, begging you to let him move in. It hadn’t been so bad. Leon had been nice, and you two had gotten along well, becoming friends even. The only thing you couldn’t stand was how messy the man was.

Empty boxes from delivered packages, stray parchment sheets from when he’d bake himself something and socks strewn haphazardly across the floor, much like his shoes. Leon had practically turned your apartment into a deathtrap. 

You don’t get to reminisce for much longer, not when he’s reaching for the pack of popsicles you’d bought. Leon lets out a low whine, like a kicked puppy, when you swat his hand away and shoot him an irritated glance. “I’m putting my foot down,” you tell him firmly, “no more unorganized socks, shoes or- or anything for that matter!”

Leon only tilts his head, blinking over at you. You glance towards the clock before your eyes are flitting back to meet his.

“Ikea,” you explain, “we’re going to Ikea to get you some organizers or whatever.” 

“ Now? ” Leon asks, raising his brows “but I was going to go to the gym with Chris and-” he’s shutting up when he sees your hardened glare.

Leon lets out an exasperated huff, and you’re smiling over at him, happy you’ve won this argument. Just to reward him, you’re digging out a popsicle from the pack and handing it to him. “So stubborn,” he mumbles under his breath, freeing the popsicle from its wrapper. 

“I heard that,” you reply, sticking your tongue out at him.

You both finish up your popsicles, and you’re tossing him his car keys while you pull your shoes on again. 

“Why do I have to drive?” he complains, leaning against the doorway.

“Because it’s your mess,” you retort, rolling your eyes, “and you’re paying as well.”

Leon lets out a scoff, “oh, fuck you.”

You smile back at him, patting him on the shoulder for some comfort. You manage to annoy him a little more during the drive to Ikea, and Leon’s contemplating whether he should just stuff your mouth with the rolled up catalog you’re currently holding

It’s when you both get to the kitchen area that Leon realizes something’s wrong. His eyes are watching the way you bend over the model kitchen counter, gaze trained on the way your skirt rides up slightly, exposing the backs of your thighs. He swallows harshly, wondering what it might be like to come up behind you, grab your hips and grind his cock against your ass. 

Your voice breaks him out of his dazed thoughts, your hand waving him over as you point to the price tag.

“Don’t you think this is a catch?” You ask him, head tilting back to meet his eyes.

“A catch?” He echoes, raising his brows, “it’s $2000 . Do you even have $2000?” 

You roll your eyes, elbowing him in the stomach. “Don’t be such a jerk, Leon. I think it’d look good in our apartment.”

There it is. Our apartment. The words are so comfortably domestic that it has Leon’s knuckles squeezing tight around the basket he’s holding. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t imagined you two dating. Especially after that time he’d come home drunk one night. You’d taken care of him so sweetly, despite all of your grumbles and chastisements, that Leon felt like he was falling in love.

That had only happened once though, and Leon wasn’t prepared to make a big deal about his feelings so he buried them deep down and carried on with his life.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on his little crush any longer, brows furrowing when he feels the basket in his hand grow heavier. You’ve been milling about, dumping various little trays and organizational tidbits into the basket.

“At this point, I think you’re trying to max out my card,” he drawls, trailing after you.

“I’m helping you, Leon” you shoot back, bringing a candle up to your nose to smell its scent.

It’s not until you both get to the bedding area that Leon realizes he might actually be losing it. 

He’s sitting down on the edge of one of the beds, the basket settled on the floor with how heavy it’s become. 

You’re fluttering about, checking out the duvet covers and pillow cases. His eyes watch over you, letting you take a seat beside him on the bed when you find a duvet cover you like.

“Pretty, right?” You ask him, showing him the design.

“I guess,” he murmurs absentmindedly. 

He thinks you look prettier though. Besides, it’s not like he can tell you that he’s imagining taking you on this very bed. Your face pressed into the pillows, his cock stuffed into your pussy. You’d probably make cute noises too, clench around his cock while he thrusted into you. He’d let everyone watch, he thinks, make sure everyone knew that you were his. 

You’re snapping your fingers in his face, trying to get him to pay attention to you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, staring into his eyes “you keep getting distracted.”

“What?” Leon flushes, clearing his throat “yeah- yeah I’m fine… just had enough of you is all.”

You swat his shoulder and he rolls his eyes. Both of you manage to get to the checkout without any further bickering. Leon’s card doesn’t max out thankfully, but you wince when you see the total, ignoring Leon’s glower as he tears the receipt from the machine.

To make up for the spontaneous shopping spree, you buy him a soft serve and hand it to him with a smile. 

Leon takes it with a grumble, his eyes dropping to the way you lick at your soft serve. The icy treat smudges across your lips, and he’s reaching out before he can stop himself, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to clean the mess. 

“Think you might be the messy one,” he mutters gruffly, drawing his hand back. 

“Your socks alone have nearly crippled me” you reply, nibbling at the cone to try and quell the race of your heart at his unexpected action. 

Leon lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head. The drive home is quiet, the soft sounds of the radio filling up the car’s space.

You help Leon with the stuff you bought, leaving the goods in his room before letting out a satisfied nod.

“There. Now you don’t have an excuse for being messy. Better start cleaning up, Leon” you chirp, giving him a snarky smile before tugging his door shut.

You sigh happily, mind feeling at ease. You’re sure that your apartment won’t be so messy anymore. The sounds of Leon rummaging inside his room almost make you feel bad, but this had been going on for months and you were glad you had done something about it. 

Deciding to grab some food, you reach for the can of peaches on the kitchen counter. By some misfortune, your hand accidentally knocks the can, sending it rolling towards the edge. Letting out an irritated huff, you’re reaching across the counter to grab the can before it falls off. 

While this happens, you’re blissfully unaware of the fact that your skirt is riding up. Leon feels his heart nearly jump out of his chest at the sight when he had wandered out of his room to grab a garbage bag. 

He can see the swell of your ass, your cheeks peeking out from your panties as you’re bent over, grabbing the can of peaches. 

“Have you made it some sort of mission to bend over every kitchen counter you see?” he asks dryly, his arms crossing over his chest.

You squeak in surprise, body jolting. The can of peaches slips from your hand pitifully, landing on the floor with a loud thunk .

“Why are you sneaking up on me?” You whine, turning to give him a glare.

Leon doesn’t reply, coming to a stop in front of you. His blue eyes are dark, dirty blonde hair hanging over his forehead.

“Um… Leon?” You wave your hand in front of his face. 

“I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose,” he murmurs, his hand catching yours.

“Hm?” he squeezes your hand, his head lowering so he can stare right into his eyes, “bending over every kitchen counter so I can see your pretty ass?” 

You manage to gather your wits, letting out a loud scoff and push at his chest.

“You’re such a perv, Leon!” you accuse, narrowing your eyes and placing your hands on your hips. 

“I’m not a perv if you keep bending over like that!” he shoots back, his hands grabbing at your forearms to tug you towards him. 

You swallow harshly when his calloused hands drift past your wrists, finding your hands and lacing his fingers with yours. The warmth of his body seeps into yours and your head is tilting, eyes finding his.

“We- we are not fucking,” you whisper, shaking your head.

“Who said anything about fucking?” Leon asks, his head lowering again. 

His body presses against yours, causing your breath to hitch. You’re biting your lip at the way it feels, the hard planes of his body molding against yours.

“One kiss,” he whispers, peering into your eyes, “please? Just one kiss and it’ll be over.”

You’d be doing yourself a disservice if you denied his request. Leon was stupidly handsome even if he was a little annoying at times, and you had maybe masturbated to the thought of your roommate before.

“Did you happen to forget that we’re roommates?” you raise your brows, trying to voice your concerns.

“Roommates kiss all the time,” he says, his nose nudging against yours gently, “now c’mon, gimme a kiss.”

You don't know what sort of roommates he’s been hanging around, but you’re almost certain that roommates don’t kiss or do whatever the hell you two are doing right now. 

Leon doesn’t know what he’s doing either. That one shopping trip had seriously messed up his brain, but he was here now so there was no going back. Your lips look so pretty, your eyes all starry. He wants to kiss you senseless and bend you over that stupid kitchen counter while he fucks into you until you’re crying on his cock.

As if to encourage you a little more, he nudges his nose against yours again. You send him a glare, eyes slipping shut as you rock up on the tips of your toes and brush your lips against his. The kiss is fleeting, a mere touch of your lips against his, and it’s safe to say Leon is not impressed.

“There,” you say, trying to hide the smirk that spreads across your face, “you got a kiss. Now leave me alone.”

Leon lets out a low groan, his head falling against your shoulder, “you’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You hum, pushing at his chest, taking the opportunity to free yourself from the confines of his grasp.

“Not so fast,” he murmurs, his hand snagging onto your shirt, “c’mere baby.”

His low voice has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering, your eyes widening when his hands cup your cheeks and he presses his lips against yours.

It doesn’t take you long to respond, arms wrapping around his neck as he kisses you fiercely. He groans into your mouth, his arms winding around your waist to pull you closer. 

You’re both flush against each other and you let out an irritated noise when he shoves you up against the kitchen counter, feeling the solid surface dig into your back.

“Drove me crazy at that Ikea,” he whispers against your lips, his hands sneaking under your skirt to give your ass an appreciative grope, “thought about fucking you on one of those beds.”

The idea of it is so obscene and indecent that you find yourself moaning out loud.

“Yeah? You like that, baby? Me fucking you in front of everyone, letting them know that you’re mine?” 

You’re nodding desperately at his filthy questions, trying to tug his shirt off so you can see his chest and abdomen. He obliges you, quickly shrugging off his shirt. Your teeth sink into your lower lip at the sight, eyes half-lidded. 

You can’t help the way your body leans forward, lips pressing soft kisses across his chest and his pecs. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his hands moving to cradle the back of your head.

“Just kisses, huh?” he murmurs.

You nod, peering up at him “no fucking, remember?”

He hums, tilting your head so he can kiss you again. Leon kisses you over and over until you can’t breathe. You’re feeling so dazed that you don’t even notice he’s spinning you around, bending you over the kitchen counter. There’s a soft whine escaping you when he flips your skirt up, his hands squeezing at your ass before his fingers slip under your panties, tugging the fabric back and letting it snap back against you.

Your fingers are scrabbling at the counter top when you feel him drop to his knees, his lips pressing against the skin of your ass. He kisses your body so reverently, you think you might actually pass out.

“Wanna kiss your pussy too,” he mumbles, tugging your panties down. You shudder when you feel his breath hit your sensitive skin, hips swaying back to meet the kisses he places on your clit.

His tongue lolls out before long, lapping at your cunt, collecting the slick that drips from you. 

“That- that is not kissing,” you whimper out, head falling against the coolness of the counter.

“Sure it is,” he whispers, burying his face deeper into your pussy, “just dirty kisses, sweetheart.”

The way he eats you out is messy. Leon’s trying to shove his face deeper between your thighs, his lips suctioning around your pussy. You mewl when he draws back and spits on your cunt, his mouth latching on soon after. You’re not sure how much longer you can hold on, knees beginning to shake. Leon delivers a particularly toe-curling suck to your clit and you’re shuddering, letting out whines and whimpers when he lets out a low laugh, his tongue swiping over your cunt repeatedly.

“Leon- fuck! Leon, ‘m gonna-” you can barely speak properly. 

“Then come , baby,” he whispers, his tongue pressing into your fluttering hole.

You squeal at the unfamiliar sensation, knuckles turning white as you come on his tongue. He licks up your slick eagerly, his wet lips pressing soft kisses against the swell of your ass as you pant.

He stands up, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You press your back against his chest, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. His eyes flutter shut, his hands smoothing along your back to undo the clasp of your bra. 

Your arms lift and Leon helps you take off your shirt and bra, letting out a soft sigh as your head falls back against his shoulder. Leon’s hands are restless, reaching for your breasts. 

He hums at the sight of your hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers before letting go to squeeze your tits. 

“You’re real pretty, sweetheart” he whispers, kissing your cheek.

You mewl, cheeks flushing. You hadn’t expected him to talk to you so sweetly. Leon feels your body lurch forward, tits pressing against his palms. He laughs, giving another firm grope to your tits and finds your lips to give you another filthy kiss. While he kisses you, Leon grinds his hips against your ass, and you gasp into his mouth, feeling the outline of his cock through his shorts.

“Think my cock wants to give your cute pussy some kisses too,” he says, his mouth pressed against your ear, “you up for it, baby?”

You could be a bobblehead with how fast your head is moving up and down. Leon grins against your ear, placing another kiss to your cheek before he’s bending you over the counter. The coolness of the counter startles you slightly, but Leon’s hand rubs up and down your back, warming your skin. 

Tits squished against the hard surface, your feet on the tips of your toes, pussy glistening with his spit and your arousal, Leon can hardly believe his fantasy has come to fruition. He wants to take a picture, keep it safe and jerk off to the sight of you when he’s alone. There’s no pictures taken though, instead Leon’s hand delivers a heavy slap to one of your ass cheeks.

You moan, back arching slightly as you try and chase the feeling. It hurts and you can feel the sting of his palm prickling across your skin, but you want him to spank you again so badly.

“L- Leon, want more,” you mumble, looking back at him.

Leon takes your request in stride, his hand coming down on your ass repeatedly. Your body slumps against the counter, soft noises escaping you as he rains slap after slap onto your reddening skin. 

“Shit, sweetheart” he whispers, his hands smoothing over the damage he’s done to your ass “so fuckin’ pretty.”

There’s a babbled noise escaping you. Mind feeling like mush, all you can think about is Leon. He smooths his hands over your sensitive skin a few more times, trying to soothe the pain before you feel him squeeze gently as he presses the head of his cock against your aching hole.

Leon pushes into your pussy with a groan, his hands squeezing at your hips. It almost feels like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Fuck-” he hisses, drawing his hips back to thrust back into you again, “ fuck - you’re so tight, baby.”

You whimper at the feeling of his cock stretching you out. Leon’s thrusts are beginning to pick up in speed and you’re whining, the force of his thrusts making your body rub against the kitchen counter.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you chant his name and his body is draping over yours, lips pressing kisses to your shoulder and back, “feels so good,” you slur. 

His hips are rutting against your ass, cock stuffing you full. You’re moaning so loudly that Leon has to slip his hand over your mouth in an effort to quieten your noises. His balls are slapping against your clit and the combined stimulation is making your head spin.

Soon, his hand is leaving your mouth to grip your hips again. 

“Take my fucking cock,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a harsh slap to your ass. 

“It’s too much!” you wail, nails clawing at the counter to try and crawl away.

He growls, grip tightening as he keeps you in place, “don’t you dare run. Take my cock like a good girl, baby.”

“You’re insane,” you cry, but there’s a cockdrunk smile spreading across your face as he fucks into you. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his head lowering so he can whisper into your ear, “and it’s all for you, because- because I like you.” 

There’s a loud whine ripping out of you at that, wet heat clenching around him. No one’s confessed to you before, like ever . You suck in a sharp breath, trying to calm your heart and stop the excited flipping of your stomach that comes with his confession.

Leon moans when he feels the clench of your walls around his cock and he’s fucking into you with renewed fervor. 

“I like you,” he whispers again “like you so much, sweetheart. Always taking care of me, looking out for me, makes me feel special.” 

“Only do that ‘cause you’re an idiot, Leon” you mumble, swallowing back another moan that threatens to spill out. 

“But you do it anyway,” he murmurs, driving his cock into you.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut as his fat tip grazes the spot deep inside of you. He grunts when he feels you getting tighter, feels you clenching hard around his cock.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, sucking little love bites onto your neck, “hm? Can feel you clenching around me, baby.”

“Wanna- wanna come at the same time,” you babble “right, Leon? Since- since you like me, we gotta come at the same time.”

He’s letting out a hoarse laugh, kissing your shoulder again, “yeah baby, I’m right there with you.”

All of a sudden, he’s burying himself to the hilt inside of you and your mouth drops open, a sharp noise leaving you as you both come. Your body is limp against the counter, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you pant. Leon kisses your neck, letting out a whine as his cum spurts into you. It’s warm and thick, filling you up so perfectly that it has a serene smile settling on your face.

He helps you onto your feet, his hands rubbing up and down your sides to soothe your shaky legs. You feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your head and you’re rocking up on the tips of your toes, returning a kiss to his cheek.

“I like you too, Leon” you whisper, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. 

You can feel him smile against your lips and he’s kissing you back sweetly. Leon keeps you there for a while as you both kiss, his hands petting across your tired body.

He takes you to his room later, his hand encasing yours. The moment is almost perfect, if not for the sock on the floor that sends you careening into his desk. “Leon!” you grit out.

He only laughs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he picks you up and tosses you onto his bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

[chvoswxtch]

a little more time

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: you're starting to question just how much patience you have left for frank.

warnings: swearing, frank getting ganged up on by our latest dynamic duo, more angst than an early 2000s emo playlist

word count: 3k

a/n: & here is the second half of this week's double drop. enjoy the calm while it lasts, bc the storm is right around the corner. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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Frank raised his right fist to knock three times against an apartment door labeled 6F. The person who the apartment belonged to was still a mystery to you. Neither you or Frank had spoken a single word to each other the entire short drive over. Instead, you’d sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed tightly over your chest, glaring out the window.

A minute later, the sound of a lock twisting broke the tense silence, and the front door was opened. A tall man stood in the doorway, his dark brown eyes wandering over Frank from head to toe and back up again. He was somewhat obstructed from your view since Frank was standing right in front of you, but you saw the way his full lips pursed in lighthearted disapproval before he lightly smacked them.

“Aw, shit.”

“Good to see you too, Curt.”

“Wish I could say the same. You know, most friends do normal shit. Go fishin’ down in Florida, maybe golf or somethin’, but you, you’re always draggin’ me into some bullshit. So what kinda trouble you bringin’ me now, Frank?”

“Told ya I needed you to look after somethin’ while I was gone for a bit.”

The man wore a light gray long sleeved henley, and the top of three buttons was undone. The waffle knit fabric stretched tightly over his biceps when he crossed his arms over his chest, lifting one of his dark brows in question with a look of suspicion on his face.

“Yeah, you didn’t say what though.”

Frank finally stepped aside, and the man fully came into view before you. When his dark brown eyes landed on your figure, an expression of surprise softened his skepticism. His onyx brows lifted in a show of disbelief as he glanced between you and Frank, giving him a pointed look.

“She’s with you?”

“Yeah. Curt, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Curtis.”

Looking up at Curtis, you did your best to give him a polite smile along with a faint nod of your head.

“It’s nice to meet you, Curtis. Frank’s told me nothing about you.”

“Well that makes two of us.”

Indents of puzzlement creased along his forehead and without another word, Curtis reached his right hand out to wave his palm back and forth in front of your face, which took you by surprise and made your brows knit in curiosity while you blinked a few times. Frank looked at Curtis inquisitively. 

“The hell you doin’?”

“Just checkin’ to see if she was blind.”

“Why?”

Turning his head to look at Frank again, Curtis looked him up and down once more with an expression of dubiety.

“Couldn’t think of another logical explanation of what the hell she was doin’ wit’cho ugly ass.”

Blowing a puff of air past his lips, Frank shook his head and turned to glance around to his left. Meanwhile, you had to cover your mouth to stifle the laugh that Curtis conjured with his quick response. Shaking his head, Curtis reached out to take your bag from you, stepping aside and gesturing for you to come inside, all the while side-eying Frank.

“Could’ve at least carried her bag for her, damn.”

Frank looked genuinely offended by the implied accusation that he hadn’t even attempted to be a gentleman, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling at the way he scrunched up his face in defense.

“She wouldn’t let me.”

“Mhm.”

Curtis’ apartment was modest and simple, not overly decked out in furniture and decor, but definitely more homely than Frank’s. It felt awkward standing in the middle of a stranger’s living room that you had just met, knowing that you were supposed to be staying here for a few days. That thought had something from Frank and Curtis’ exchange suddenly sticking out in your mind.

Frank had told Curtis he needed him to keep an eye on something, not someone. 

Turning around to face them, your narrowed gaze landed on Frank and creases of irritation swiftly knit between your brows.

“You didn’t tell him that I was coming, did you?”

Both men’s heads snapped in your direction when you spoke. Curtis glanced between the two of you with a comical look on his features as he picked up on the fact that Frank seemed to be in trouble with you. It was evident how hard he was trying to suppress a smirk. Frank on the other hand turned to face you fully, and he returned your expression of irritation with his own annoyed, broody scowl. 

“Didn’t wanna ask over the phone-”

“And you didn’t think to ask in person before you packed me up and dropped me off?”

Curtis had his arms folded over his chest, and he was fighting to hide his amusement behind his right fist. His broad shoulders were subtly bouncing, and the sound of his snickering caused Frank to snap his head in his direction with a deep frown. Clearing his throat, Curtis turned to look at you with an easy going smile and gave a loose and dismissive wave of his right hand.

“Look it uh, it ain’t a big deal, alright?” 

“It is when he’s the only one here who seems to know what the fuck is going on.”

The tension between you and Frank was thick, almost visibly lingering in the air, and Curtis quickly picked up on it. He’d placed your bag on the floor by his feet, but in an effort to diffuse the situation, Curtis reached down to pick it up in his left hand and loosely gestured with his right towards a hall around the corner from you.

“Here, why don’t we get you set up, alright? I uh…needa talk to Frank right quick.”

Curtis regarded you with a sympathetic glint in his eye, and it had guilt filling your bloodstream like lead. Your presence here was an imposition, whether he would say that out loud or not, which you figured by his kind nature he wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to stand in the middle of his living room and argue with Frank, disrupting the peace of his home and causing him to feel uncomfortable. Silently nodding your head in agreement, you gave Frank one last forlorn glance before you turned to follow Curtis. 

In the midst of your disappointment, both in Frank and yourself, you noticed that Curtis seemed to walk with a slight limp. It wasn’t overly apparent, and you’d only observed it because your eyes were on the ground in front of you following the heels of his shoes, but it stoked your curiosity. Frank hadn’t told you anything about him, you hadn’t even known he existed until today, but he was clearly someone important if Frank was leaving you in his trusted care. Your mind began to wonder where that integrity stemmed from. When he placed your bag down on the edge of his bed, you quickly shook your head and spoke up. 

“I’m not kicking you out of your own room.”

Curtis turned his head to look at you and studied you silently for a moment. His deep brown eyes flickered between the door of his bedroom and your own gaze. Taking a step in your direction, he reached out with his right hand and gave your shoulder a comforting light squeeze. 

“We’ll talk about that later. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute, take a deep breath. Unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders.”

You hadn’t even been consciously aware of the fact that you were doing all of those things until Curtis pointed them out. Sucking in a deep breath, you let it out in a slow exhale through your lips, trying to release the frustration and stress in your body along with it. When you sat down on the edge of his bed, your shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and you folded your hands in front of you with your forearms resting on your thighs, staring blankly ahead at the wall.

“So, this kind of thing is normal with him?”

Slipping his hands into the pocket of his jeans, Curtis looked over at you while leaning back against the wall and granted a nod of his head.

“I’ve known Frank a long time. Kinda gotten used to him bein’ a pain in my ass.”

“And you put up with it?”

There seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the two of you at that moment. The way that Curtis looked at you told you that he knew what you were really asking him with your veiled question. 

Should I continue to put up with it?

Letting out a deep exhale of his own, Curtis pursed his full lips and a contemplative look covered his features. After a moment, he returned your interrogative stare with an expression of empathy and lightly shrugged his broad shoulders.

“I’ve never known Frank to do somethin’ without a purpose. Whether it’s right or wrong, I can’t say. But, the intentions come from a good place. Most of the time.”

The way he spoke that last part caught your attention, and you looked up at him in intrigue. He had trailed off a bit, his dark brown eyes wandering towards the empty space next to your side. You wished you could read the thoughts currently passing behind his eyes. Curiosity creased along your forehead as you tilted your head to the side in question. 

“Most of the time?”

Curtis’ eyes focused back in your direction and he held your gaze silently for a few seconds. You could see on his face that he knew he had said maybe just a little bit too much. He turned his head to glance towards the open bedroom door once more before returning your look of query. His lips faintly tugged into a reassuring smile when he nodded his head in your direction.

“Like I said, there’s always a purpose.”

While Frank and Curtis were conversating in the living room, you took a moment to look around the quaint space of Curtis’ bedroom. Eventually your eyes fell on your bag that sat on the mattress to your right, and all of a sudden it seemed to dawn on you that Frank had packed it for you. Unable to deny your curiosity, your fingers reached out to tug back the zipper, peering inside to see what clothing and necessities he’d chosen.

On one side of the bag, a pile of clothes were folded neatly, and on the other was your toiletry case. Thumbing through the pile of clothes, you felt a tightness in your chest seeing that Frank had chosen outfits that you would’ve picked for yourself. They were ones you wore regularly, and he’d even packed your favorite pajamas. Knowing that you liked to be overly prepared and have options in case you changed your mind, he’d made sure you had enough choices for a week, and he even managed to fit two other pairs of shoes in the bottom.

Frank had grabbed all of the essentials to pack in your toiletry case, everything that he knew you used regularly, and even a few things he must have just thought you might need. He hadn’t just randomly grabbed a bunch of things to shove in a bag and go. Frank had thoughtfully chosen every single item in this bag with you in mind. While you sat there with your bag open, staring at the contents inside, an unexpected wave of emotion built up along your waterline, and you hadn’t even noticed until you felt a trail of wetness cascading down your cheek. 

A light knock on the bedroom door made you quickly wipe away the evidence of your emotional turmoil with the sleeve of your shirt, and when you turned your head, you saw Frank standing there in the doorway. He looked considerably calmer than he had twenty minutes ago, and seeing the remnants of sorrow shining in your eyes, his rough features softened into raw remorse. Glancing at your open bag sitting beside you, Frank looked down for a moment and cleared his throat.

“I uh…grabbed what I thought you would.”

Hesitantly lifting his head to meet your gaze, you saw that his warm brown eyes were full of unspoken apologies. Giving a faint nod of your head, you dropped your gaze down to your lap and spoke quietly.

“Yeah, thank you.”

Both of you had so much you wanted to say, but neither of you knew where to start, or what the right words were. The silence echoed loudly and the walls felt like they were tauntingly closing in around you. A sinking stone of intuition in the pit of your stomach had you prophesying the very real possibility that this would end with you left in bereavement, and that the romantic daydreams you had hand crafted in the back of your mind had been false fortune telling. 

Frank took a few cautious steps towards you, and you could see his boots come into view in your peripheral as you kept your eyes downcast towards the floor.

“Sweetheart.”

God, the way he uttered that one word made your chest ache. There were a million different emotions packed into those two simple syllables, and you could hear the tender longing in his deep voice softly calling to you. Frank knelt down in front of you, his large hand reaching out to cup your face. He slipped his fingers into your hair right beside your ear, gently grasping the back of your neck and he tucked his thumb under your chin to lift your head slowly. 

“Hey-”

Frank dipped his head to try and catch your eye. Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your line of sight to look at him, and the expression on his face broke your heart. His warm brown eyes were desperately pleading with you, darting between your lips and crestfallen gaze.

“-c’mon I don’t…I don’t wanna leave it like this.”

The warmth of his breath could be felt against your lips, and his eyes were frantically searching every inch of face for something…anything that could temporarily relieve this anguish until he returned with a permanent fix.

“Look if I could…if there was another way…”

Frank let out a deep sigh that trembled past his lips, and it was clear he was struggling to find the right words.

“Just…please. I’m gonna make this right, okay? I swear to you. I just…I need you to give me a little more time, alright? Just a little more. Can you give me that?”

It was hard to see Frank like this, the somber sheen to his eyes and the misery weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was asking for another strand of patience, but you didn’t know how much you had left, and it scared you to even think about what would happen when you ran out. It was unclear in your mind whether the love you had for Frank that was embedded deeply in the chambers of your heart could be enough to salvage the pieces he was leaving you with.

“Okay.”

Frank could hear the lack of conviction in your defeated tone, and it killed him. Deep down he knew he was asking too much of you without giving you any concrete reassurance in return, but he couldn’t see another path. All he could do was hope that your faith in him wouldn’t run out like grains of sand slipping through the narrow bridge of an hourglass, and that the consolation of your forgiveness could still be earned. 

His soft lips parted, and there was an intense emotion in his eyes when he stared deeply into yours. It looked like he wanted to say something so badly, but he cut himself off before he could. Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let it linger for a moment before pulling away and retracting his hand from your face.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’ll be safe with Curt, alright?”

A pang of disappointment quickly spread through you. For a second you thought Frank might be the first one to speak those three words. If there was ever a time you needed to hear them, it was now. But then again, you didn’t know if you were ready to say them back.

Running your hand through the roots of your hair and pushing it out of your face, you sucked in your bottom lip and grazed it with your top teeth before letting it go and nodding.

“Yeah.”

Frank eyed you wearily for a moment before hesitantly rising to his full height. He didn’t want to leave things between the two of you so unfinished like this, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t know if he’d made things better or worse in attempting to leave on a smoother note. When he reached the doorframe, he paused and turned to look at you again, and it bothered him that you wouldn’t look at him.

“I’ll see ya soon, sweetheart.”

There was no verbal reply from you, just another nod of acknowledgement. Frank lingered there for a moment in the doorway, silently begging you with his eyes to look at him, but your gaze seemed to be permanently fixed on the floor. The image of you sitting there looking so dejected and disappointed burned into his memory, and he knew it would haunt him, even long after this was all over. He wouldn’t forget the moment he’d let you down so badly.

The only goodbye you got was the resonation of Frank’s heavy boots fading, getting fainter and fainter the further away from you he got. A few seconds later, the front door opened with a soft creak, and a murmur was exchanged before the sound of heavy wood sliding back into a worn frame was completed with the soft click of a lock.

The golden hour dripped through the thin plastic blinds, coating the entire room in a sundrenched glow, but the warmth couldn’t penetrate the endless and echoing loneliness that dug deep into your bones knowing that Frank was gone, again.

tags: @thyme-in-a-bubble @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @avengerstower-houseplant @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary @cherry-berry-ollie @sorrowfulfragmentation @kdogreads @sumo-b98 @blackhawksfanatic @gloryekaterina @whistle1whistle @starbritestarlite @callmebrooklynbabes @hallway5 @scarletfvckingwitch @bifuriouslatina @soupyspence @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @wonwoosthetic @linguist-breakaribecca @nerdytreeflower @mrs-bellingham @smhnxdiii @s3riou2 @slavic-empress

[diorsdolliest]

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒; min ho

summary: y/n is heartbroken after being stood up on valentine’s day, but when min ho confesses his feelings, she begins to question everything she thought she knew about him—and herself.

warnings: N/A

word count: 2798

VALENTINE’S DAY WAS THE WORST !

every year, you swore it wouldn't bother you.

and every year, you watched your friends get grand gestures, love confessions, and sweet surprises while you got... nothing.

you saw it in the way yuri's eyes lit up when juliana asked her to be her valentine, the way they looked at each other like the rest of the world didn't exist.

you wanted that.

no—you needed it.

too bad you didn't have a boyfriend. or anyone remotely interested in you.

and as if that wasn't bad enough, kitty refused to let it go.

"kitty, just face it—i'm never getting a valentine. i've accepted it, why can't you?" you sighed dramatically, flopping onto the couch.

kitty, ever the optimist, shook her head. "i'm a matchmaker, y/n! someone out there would be so lucky to have you."

before you could respond, the dorm door swung open.

and, of course, it had to be him.

min ho.

he took one look at you and scoffed. "do you have to be here?" his accent curled around each syllable, laced with irritation.

you rolled your eyes. "yes, i do. if you have a problem with it—frankly, i don't care."

his jaw ticked. "shocking."

"god, you are so insufferable," you shot back, shifting to face kitty instead. "anyway, what's your plan for valentine's?"

at the mention of it, kitty's expression faltered. "nothing, i guess. dae hasn't asked me or anything yet."

you gasped. "excuse me?"

kitty shrugged. "he probably will, i just—"

"if he doesn't, we're having a girls' night," you decided, already springing to your feet. "just us, old 2000s rom-coms, and—"

your eyes flickered toward the kitchen. without thinking, you strode over and snatched the freshly popped popcorn min ho had just made.

he turned slowly, gaze darkening. "put. that. back."

you smirked, tossing a piece into your mouth. "make me."

for a second, neither of you moved.

min ho stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he stared you down. "you're so annoying, you know that?" his voice was lower now, quieter.

your heart kicked up—whether from irritation or something else, you refused to acknowledge.

"and yet," you popped another piece into your mouth, "you're still standing here."

his eyes flicked to your lips for half a second.

you blinked.

before you could react, you turned on your heel and skipped back to kitty, plopping down beside her.

"i'm sure dae will ask me, though... right?" kitty asked, her voice hopeful.

you forced yourself to focus, nudging her playfully. "of course he will. he loves you."

but as you spoke, you could feel min ho's stare burning into you from across the room.

and for some reason, you didn't hate it.

a week later, you were caught completely off guard.

jaehyun—a boy you barely spoke to—approached you in the courtyard, a single rose in his hand and a box of chocolates tucked under his arm.

your first reaction was to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “me?”

jaehyun grinned, nodding as he stepped closer, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. “y/n y/l/n, will you be my valentine?”

you blinked, glancing around like this was some kind of joke. but there were no snickering friends hiding nearby, no cameras pointed at you for some cruel prank.

just him, holding out the chocolates, slipping the rose behind your ear with careful fingers.

and for once, for the first time ever, you felt chosen. wanted.

a slow smile spread across your lips. “yeah, i will.”

jaehyun smirked before walking off, his friends clapping him on the back.

you watched him go, your heart thrumming in your chest, warmth blooming in your stomach. then, clutching the chocolates, you spun around and ran back to your dorm, excitement bubbling over.

for the first time, valentine’s day wasn’t something to dread.

it was something for you.

february 14th.

you spent an hour getting ready, carefully picking out your outfit, fixing your hair, and perfecting your makeup.

by the time you arrived at the restaurant, you were practically glowing, heart hammering with anticipation.

you found your table and sat down, smoothing your dress.

the waiter came over, pen poised over his notepad. "would you like to order?"

you shook your head, smiling. "oh, i'm waiting for my date. he'll be here soon."

the waiter nodded and walked away.

you checked your phone. no messages.

he's probably just running late.

thirty minutes passed. you were still sitting there, hands folded neatly in your lap, foot tapping against the floor.

an hour.

the waiter returned with a hesitant look. "would you like to order something while you wait?"

your stomach churned. "no... i think he'll be here soon."

you pulled out your phone, hesitated, then finally texted him.

no response.

you clicked on his profile.

blocked.

your breath hitched.

the realization crashed over you like a wave, drenching you in humiliation.

he wasn't coming.

two hours later, you ran out of the restaurant, the cold night air biting at your tear-streaked cheeks as you rushed to kitty's dorm.

the moment you reached the door, it swung open.

min ho.

you froze.

his gaze flickered over you, taking in the trembling shoulders, the ruined makeup, the way you clutched your arms around yourself like you were trying to hold the pieces together.

and then his expression shifted.

the teasing smirk he usually wore was gone. instead, his brows furrowed, lips parting slightly as he took a step forward.

you didn't give him the chance to speak. you shoved past him, storming into the room and collapsing onto the couch, burying your face in your hands.

min ho followed, shutting the door behind him.

silence.

then, the rustling of fabric as he moved closer.

the couch dipped beside you.

you flinched, immediately shifting away from him. "if you have something to say, i don't want to hear it!" your voice cracked, betraying you.

min ho exhaled, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "y/l/n... what happened?"

his tone. you weren't used to it. not from him. it wasn't condescending, wasn't laced with the usual irritation. it was something else.

something dangerous.

something that made your walls tremble.

you shook your head, wiping the fresh tears that spilled down your cheeks. "it's nothing."

min ho didn't move. "you look like you just had the worst night of your life. tell me."

you swallowed the lump in your throat.

for a moment, you considered shutting him out.

but then his eyes locked onto yours—deep, searching, unwavering—and suddenly, everything poured out.

"i was asked out by this guy," you whispered.

"jaehyun. and he—he asked me to be his valentine, and i thought, for once, someone actually wanted me. and then he stood me up." your voice broke on the last word.

"he blocked me."

the weight of it hit you all over again, a fresh wave of embarrassment and hurt crashing down. your chest tightened as more tears slipped down your face, shoulders shaking.

min ho was silent.

then, before you could react, he reached for you—his hands gripping your wrists, gently pulling them away from your face.

and then he did something you never expected.

he pulled you in.

your breath hitched as you crashed against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, warm and secure and safe.

the shock nearly knocked the air out of your lungs, but the moment his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, the dam inside you broke completely.

you sobbed into his shoulder, hands clutching at the fabric of his hoodie. "i feel so stupid," you choked out.

min ho tensed. "you're not stupid."

you shook your head, unable to stop the spiral. "i just—i wanted it so badly. i wanted to feel special. but i guess i'm just—"

"don't."

his voice was firm.

you blinked up at him, sniffling.

min ho exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "you are so much more than what that asshole saw you as. he's an idiot. he's a coward. and he just lost the chance to be with someone beautiful, talented, annoyingly stubborn—"

you let out a watery laugh.

"—and actually gives a shit about people," min ho finished. his voice lowered. "you deserve more than that. so much more."

you swallowed hard, your heart pounding.

it wasn't just what he was saying.

it was how he was saying it.

the way his gaze flickered down to your lips for half a second before snapping back up to your eyes.

the way his fingers curled slightly like he had to stop himself from holding you closer.

the way he was looking at you.

like he was realizing something.

like maybe he should've been the one to ask you first.

your breath caught in your throat.

min ho must've realized how close you were because he cleared his throat, quickly pulling back—but not before his fingers lingered for a second longer than they needed to.

you stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. "you should get some rest," he muttered. "you look exhausted."

you shook your head, wiping your cheeks. "stay with me, please." you looked down, avoiding his eyes.

min ho went completely still.

you didn't dare move, didn't even breathe as the weight of your words hung in the air between you.

stay with me, please.

you hadn't meant for it to come out so desperate, so raw. but now it was out there, and there was no taking it back.

his breath was slow, measured—like he was carefully choosing his next move.

then, without a word, he leaned back into the couch, his body still tense, but he didn't leave.

"i'm not gonna leave you alone like this," he murmured, voice quieter now.

you nodded, but you didn't look at him. couldn't.

because if you did, you knew you'd break all over again.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. the only sound was your shaky breathing, the occasional sniffle as you wiped at your cheeks.

and then—just barely—you felt it.

min ho's fingers, brush against yours.

a hesitation.

a pause.

and then he held them.

not in the way a friend would. not in the way someone offering comfort should.

his grip was warm, steady—but his thumb traced over your knuckles, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine.

your breath hitched.

what is he doing?

min ho cleared his throat, but he didn't let go. "you're such an idiot."

your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "excuse me?"

he let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

his grip on your hand tightened for half a second before he finally let go, dragging his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"i mean, really, y/n?" he muttered.

"some guy gives you a rose and suddenly you think you're in some fairytale romance? you actually believed he—" min ho cut himself off, jaw tightening.

he looked away, breathing heavily through his nose.

you stared at him, something in your chest twisting. "why do you care so much?"

his head snapped back to you, eyes burning. "because it's you."

the room went deathly silent.

you barely had time to process before min ho was speaking again, voice lower, rougher. "do you have any idea how fucking frustrating it is to watch you chase after people who don't deserve you? to see you get your hopes up just to end up crying like this?"

your throat tightened. "min ho—"

"i would never do that to you," he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly.

"i would never make you feel like you're not enough. and you—" he huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "you don't even see me, do you?"

you froze.

your pulse pounded in your ears as you stared at him, at the way his chest rose and fell unevenly, the way his hands clenched into fists like he was trying to hold himself together.

like this confession had been clawing its way out of him for way too long.

"...what?" your voice was barely above a whisper.

min ho let out a sharp exhale like he'd already said too much. but then his eyes locked onto yours, and something in them shifted.

screw it.

he surged forward, his face just inches from yours. "i like you, okay?" he muttered, the words dripping with frustration, desperation, something dangerous.

"i have liked you. and it's driving me insane watching you throw yourself at guys who don't even know how lucky they are to have your attention."

your lips parted, but no words came out.

min ho's jaw tensed, his eyes flickering between yours, searching—waiting.

for what, you didn't know.

for you to push him away?

to laugh in his face?

you didn't.

instead, you did the only thing you could do.

you reached for his hand again, gripping it tightly in yours. and this time, he was the one who sucked in a sharp breath.

"say it again," you whispered.

his brows furrowed slightly, his voice barely above a breath. "what?"

you swallowed, heart hammering against your ribs. "say it again."

min ho's fingers curled around yours. his voice was quieter this time, but just as intense.

"i like you."

you could barely think. barely breathe.

but then min ho leaned in, so close that his lips ghosted over your cheek, lingering there for a heartbeat too long.

his breath was warm against your skin, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

his voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper.

"...and i'm so fucking tired of pretending i don't."

you didn't move.

didn't breathe.

min ho's confession hung between you, thick and suffocating, as if the weight of it alone could crush you.

his breath was warm against your skin, his grip on your hand firm—like he was daring you to pull away, begging you not to.

but you couldn't.

your heart pounded so loudly you swore he could hear it.

every nerve in your body was on edge, hyper-aware of him—the heat of his body so close to yours, the tension radiating off of him like an electric current.

you forced yourself to swallow. "min ho..."

his name came out weaker than you intended, barely more than a whisper.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly like he was preparing for the worst.

like he expected you to shut him down.

and maybe you should've.

maybe you should've laughed it off, teased him, acted like this was some sick joke—because what other explanation was there?

this was min ho.

min ho, who bickered with you like it was a second language.

min ho, who always had something sarcastic to say, acted like he barely tolerated you most of the time.

min ho, who was right here, so close you could feel every breath he took.

"i—" you swallowed again, voice barely steady. "you can't just say things like that."

his jaw tightened. "why not?"

"because..." you hesitated, your grip on his hand loosening, but he didn't let go.

because it would change everything.

because it was easier to keep pretending.

because if you let yourself believe him—if you let yourself hope—you wouldn't survive it if he took it back.

min ho exhaled sharply, his frustration barely contained. "you really don't get it, do you?"

you blinked at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "get what?"

"that i see you." his voice was quieter now, raw in a way that made your stomach twist.

"i see all of you, y/n. not just the part that laughs too loudly, or the part that annoys the shit out of me daily. i see the part that cries when no one's looking. the part that wants so badly to be chosen—" he broke off, shaking his head.

"and it pisses me off that you don't even realize you already are."

your breath hitched.

min ho's gaze flickered between your eyes, your lips, and back to your eyes.

his fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you again, but something was holding him back.

you.

you were holding both of you back.

you squeezed your eyes shut, your pulse thrumming wildly against your skin. "min ho, i don't—"

"tell me you don't feel it." his voice was low, almost desperate. "tell me i'm wrong."

you opened your mouth, ready to deny it. to throw up your defenses, to make this easier.

but nothing came out.

because you did feel it.

you felt it in the way your chest tightened whenever he was near.

in the way his absence left a void, you hated to acknowledge.

in the way, his touch, his words, and his presence sent something sharp and terrifying through you.

you felt it.

and min ho knew.

his lips parted like he was about to say something else—one final push to make you admit what was already written all over your face.

but then, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

you jumped.

min ho jerked back slightly, his grip on your hand loosening for the first time. the moment shattered the intensity between you dissipating like smoke.

the door creaked open, and kitty's voice rang out.

"oh—uh, am i... interrupting something?"

your head snapped up, your breath still uneven.

min ho let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair, forcing his expression back into something unreadable.

"no." his voice was flat, distant.

"nothing at all."

liar.

he shot you one last look before standing up, jaw tight.

then he walked out, leaving you alone on the couch, pulse still racing, heart still pounding, and everything left unsaid.

pt 2 - all i really want is you

[nnnaaahhhiiiaaa]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 - choi seung-hyun

Summary | You've been in love with Seung-hyun since you were thirteen. You've always stood up for him when he was bullied for being overweight. He's always been a rap fan, and when he was rejected for being chubby in YG entertainment, he disappears for two months, only to find a completely changed Seung-hyun later.

Pairing | Bullied! Choi Seung-hyun x Fem! Reader.

Genre | 2000s school era. Pre-debut T.O.P.

Warnings | Angst to fluff, bullying.

Author's note | English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

1997 -

"That's right! Run away, you cowards!" you shouted furiously, watching as the group of kids fled in terror, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the two of you. Still fueled by adrenaline, you clicked your tongue in disdain. "Tch, idiots."

Behind you, a chubby boy with a round build and a fearful expression remained frozen in place. He seemed to be your age, though his hunched posture and downcast gaze made him look smaller. His eyes shone with a mix of surprise and admiration as he watched how you had made his bullies run away just by raising your voice.

But when you abruptly turned to him with a deep frown, he flinched, shrinking slightly.

"You," you pointed at him firmly, locking eyes with his. "You shouldn't let them treat you like that. You have to stand up for yourself."

Your tone wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was an order, an undeniable truth that you expected him to understand. Because in a world where the weak were trampled on, there was no room for submission.

The boy blinked several times, as if trying to process what you had just told him. His chubby hands trembled slightly, gripping the edges of his shirt nervously. His lips parted, but no words came out.

"What? You’re not going to say anything?" you insisted, crossing your arms impatiently. "If you keep staying silent, they’ll come back. And next time, I might not be here to help you."

He lowered his gaze, his face flushing with embarrassment. His fingers twisted together, as if searching for the courage to respond.

"I… I'm not strong like you," he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

You sighed in frustration. It was always the same story—kids who let themselves be stepped on because they didn’t know how to fight back. But something about the way this boy spoke, the defeated look in his eyes, made your anger subside just a little.

"You don’t have to be strong," you said, this time more gently. "You just need to learn not to let them walk all over you."

The boy looked at you hesitantly, as if he couldn't imagine ever standing up to those who tormented him.

"Mmh, my name is Y/N," you introduced yourself with a confident smile, watching in amusement as the boy in front of you blushed slightly, averting his gaze awkwardly.

"I… I'm Choi Seung-hyun…" he replied in a barely audible voice, as if even saying his own name felt heavy on his lips.

"Well then, Choi-Choi, from now on, I’ll protect you!" you declared enthusiastically, raising a determined thumbs-up.

He blinked, startled. "Choi… Choi?"

"Yep! It’s a cute and sweet nickname… just like you," you explained without thinking too much. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Still, you refused to look away, keeping your smile intact.

Seung-hyun’s mouth opened slightly, but no response came out. He just stared at you with those big, dark eyes, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to protect him.

From that day on, you and Seung-hyun became inseparable. So inseparable that, in the end, you fell in love with him.

2005 -

Eight years had passed since that first encounter, and five since you had completely surrendered to his tenderness, his humor, and that voice that seemed to wrap around everything.

"So... you're going to audition for YG Entertainment?" you asked, excitement shining in your eyes.

Seung-hyun lowered his gaze for a moment before nodding timidly. "Yeah... I've thought about it a lot, but in the end, I decided to take this opportunity," he admitted, a hint of nervousness in his tone.

You couldn't hold back your smile. "Ah, they're definitely going to choose you! You have an amazing voice, and your rap is incredible," you assured him with absolute conviction.

His cheeks, already slightly flushed, turned an even deeper shade of red. He raised a hand to the back of his neck, uncomfortable yet flattered. "I-It’s not that great..." he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

But you knew the truth. You knew how much talent he had, how much effort he had poured into every word, every note. And more than anyone, you wanted to see him shine.

The big day had finally arrived. Seung-hyun was about to audition, but it seemed like you were even more excited than he was. You couldn’t stop smiling, encouraging him, and transmitting that energy he, overwhelmed by nerves, could barely find within himself.

"I wish you the best of luck, Choi-Choi…" you whispered sweetly before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Seung-hyun blinked, surprised, feeling a sudden warmth spread across his face. A shy smile—one he only showed when he was too overwhelmed to find the right words—appeared on his lips.

The trembling in his hands hadn’t disappeared yet, but your gesture made his fear momentarily fade away. Because if you believed in him so firmly, then maybe… maybe he could believe in himself too.

Seung-hyun took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to calm his nerves. When he opened them again, there was a new gleam in his gaze—more determined.

"I have to go in. They’re calling me," he murmured, adjusting his jacket with shaky hands.

"Go and dazzle them!" you exclaimed enthusiastically, raising your fists in encouragement. "Don’t forget that you’re amazing, Choi-Choi."

He let out a small laugh, that low and warm sound you adored so much. "Thank you, Y/N… for everything."

Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked toward the audition room. You watched him disappear behind the door, feeling excitement and nerves mix in your chest.

The minutes passed at an unbearably slow pace. You kept glancing at the clock, biting your lip impatiently.

Finally, the door opened, and Seung-hyun stepped out.

His expression was darkened by a seriousness you rarely saw in him. His lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were trying to hold something back. Without stopping for even a second, he walked past you, ignoring your presence completely as he hurried out of the building.

"Seung-hyun? Seung-hyun, wait!" you called out, running after him with your heart pounding. "What happened? Didn’t they pick you…?"

Suddenly, Seung-hyun stopped dead in the middle of the street. His rigid back and clenched fists were enough to tell you that something was wrong. But what really unsettled you was that he didn’t even turn to look at you.

"They didn’t pick me because of my appearance…" he muttered, his head hanging low.

"What…?"

"They didn’t pick me because I’m fucking fat!" he suddenly burst out, his voice breaking between frustration and pain.

The outburst took you by surprise. You had never seen him like this. You had never heard him sound so hurt.

"Choi-Choi…" you whispered sadly, feeling a lump form in your throat.

You had always believed in him, in his talent. He had an incredible voice, sang with passion, and rapped with a power that sent chills down your spine. But apparently, in the world of K-Pop, visuals mattered more than raw talent.

You took a step toward him, wanting to offer comfort, to tell him that this didn’t define his worth. But before you could touch him, he pulled away abruptly and took off running without looking back.

"Seung-hyun!" you shouted his name desperately, but your voice was lost in the air.

You stood there, heart aching, watching him disappear into the distance. Maybe, at this moment, the best thing to do was to let him go… to give him space. Even though it hurt, even though all you wanted was to catch up to him and hold him until all the pain faded away.

Damn it… It had been two months since the last time you saw him, and you hadn’t managed to meet Seung-hyun again. He didn’t even show up at school. The uncertainty slowly took over you, and with each passing day, the weight of worry hit you harder.

You tried calling him several times, but it always went to voicemail. You even tried calling his house, hoping to hear his voice, even if it was just a simple "Hello." But it was always the same response. His mother would say he couldn’t answer, and when you asked if he was okay, she would give you a vague "Yes, he’s fine." Something didn’t add up.

Could it be because of the rejection at the audition? You couldn’t help but think something else had happened, something that had made him withdraw from the world, distance himself from everything. But you didn’t know what it was.

You were devastated. You needed to see him, hear his voice. Anything that would confirm that, at least, he was okay. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t contact him.

Finally, the school bell rang, signaling the end of classes. Without thinking, you quickly left the school, determined not to give up. You had gone to his house several times, but they always told you he wasn’t there, or didn’t answer the door. This time wouldn’t be the same. This time, you wouldn’t leave without an answer.

Your heart raced as you walked quickly toward his house. You knew the address by heart, having walked that path so many times… but, before you could reach it, you bumped into someone.

"Ah, sorry!" you apologized quickly, not looking at who it was, too focused on your mission to find Seung-hyun.

"Y/N…?" The voice sounded familiar, although you hadn’t heard it in a long time.

Confused, you looked up to find a cute guy, tall and thin with fallen hair, who was looking at you with an expression you couldn’t immediately decipher. He seemed familiar, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t put a name to his face.

"Y-You…?" you murmured, your mind racing to place the piece in the puzzle. Who was this guy?

The guy looked at you with a small, shy smile, as if he was trying to hide something behind his eyes. It was when he took a step closer that you recognized the light in his gaze.

"It’s me… Seung-hyun," he said, his voice a bit hesitant but filled with a sincerity that made you freeze in place.

A flood of emotions hit you immediately. You couldn’t believe it. He was there, in front of you, as if time had stopped. But something about him had changed. Not just in his appearance, but in the way he stood before you, in the way he looked at you. That energy he used to have, the same one that had made you fall in love with him so many years ago, now seemed more… contained, more calculated.

"Seung-hyun…? But… What…? Why are you… like this?" you asked, unable to stop the lump in your throat as you saw how different he was.

He nodded slightly. "Yes… Sorry for not telling you before, but… after the audition, they told me I had to lose weight if I wanted to be accepted. I lost 20 kilos in a couple of months… and then, they chose me. Now I’m in a band called BigBang with four other guys." His voice was firmer, but there was a tension that made you think he wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing this with you.

"But… Why…?" The question escaped your lips without you being able to stop it. "Why did you change so much? Why did you change… for them? I… I loved you for who you were, for how you were before…"

Seung-hyun lifted his gaze, and in his eyes, you could see a mix of surprise and some guilt. "I did it for myself… To prove that I could do it. I wanted to fit into the world I always dreamed of, and I thought that if I changed, if I became someone else, maybe…"

"Maybe they would see you, right?" you interrupted, unable to contain the sadness in your voice. "But… what about me? Didn’t you care what I thought? Because I loved you, Seung-hyun. Just the way you were… with your insecurities, your awkward smile, your silly jokes. Everything about you, even the things you didn’t like about yourself, is what made me fall in love with you. You don’t need to change to be perfect… you already are."

A heavy silence fell between you two as Seung-hyun seemed to struggle with his words. Then, slowly, he took a step closer to you, and with a more vulnerable look than ever, he whispered, "I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think that would affect you…"

"Well, it did," you said, the pain cutting through your words, but also a spark of hope. "And I don’t want to see you turn into someone else just to be accepted. I want the guy you were before, the one who made me laugh, the one who made me feel special without having to try to be someone else."

Seung-hyun closed his eyes for a moment, as if realizing everything that had happened. And, for the first time since you had seen him, he smiled in a sincere, albeit shy, way.

"Maybe… maybe I’m still that guy," he said, stepping even closer to you. "Maybe I just need to remember who I really am."

And there, under the dim light of the afternoon, with the city around you and the fresh air that seemed to ease the tension, Seung-hyun looked at you with renewed tenderness. The guy you had loved was there, and although the scars of change were still present, you could see that some of that Seung-hyun you had known still remained. And that was enough for you to believe in a new beginning.

"Can I try, Y/N? To be who I am, without changing for them…" he whispered, his eyes fixed on yours.

You simply smiled, a smile full of hope, as you replied, "Of course, Seung-hyun. I’ve always believed in you. And I’ll keep believing."

[zepskies]

Code Red

Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader

Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.

AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️ 

Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”

Word Count: 1,500 Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff

He was in the zone.

Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.

Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.

Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.

He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.

“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.

“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.

He perked up with raised eyebrows.

“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.

Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.

“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”

You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”

Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—

“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”

“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.” 

Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”

Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”

Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.

What’s wrong? she mouthed.

“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.

Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.

She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.

“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He chuckled at that one.

“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”

“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”

“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”

At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.

Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…

Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.

AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.  

He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.

“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.

Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”

“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”

Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.

“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”

Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.

He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.

Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.

“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.

He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.

He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.

“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”

Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.

“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.

You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”

With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.

You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.

“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.

He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care. 

You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.

You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.

Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.

“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.

“Half-Baked?” you asked.

“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”

Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.

“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”

He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”

“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”

Priestly realized then that he’d found it.

He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.

Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

You giggled. “Shut up.”

AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘

Read the Prequel!

If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:

▶️ The Miracle Man

Priestly Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

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[thewordypeach]

Cream

Cream (Milk)

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: 18+, NSFW!!!!, smut! smut! smut!, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v = creampie, oral, titty sucking and titty fucking, (lactation kink), implied breeding kink, squirting, etc. summary: Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it - author's note: ummm … so this sequel had me questioning my life choices. like i do not know what possessed me to take it this far lol so you better blow it up like you did with ‘Milk’ 🤭 anyways, i hope you like it <3 xoxo the wordy peach

It begins with: “You’ll never guess what they’re playing at movie night,” 

You look at Joel, a single eyebrow raised. Joel wolfishly grins, his brown eyes sparkling, “Austin Powers and the Spy Who Shagged Me,” 

He watches as your eyebrows knit together in confusion. Joel can’t believe you don’t remember the conversation from last week, the one that had you confessing to him that you felt like one of those fembots from the aforementioned movie. He steps closer, head dipping to your ear, whispering: “Machine gun titties,” 

That’s all it takes for you to remember. And it has your cheeks flushing pink. Sheepishly, you smile at him. But, of course, the cock block herself pipes up: “The spy who what?”

Ellie, you spunky little shithead. You love her to death. You never want her to grow up. But lately, she’s been ruining your alone time with Joel. You know she just wants to be a part of the family, and she is. It never even crossed your mind to think otherwise. She’s the daughter you never had. Sometimes you wish she’d just go and make friends that aren’t you or Joel. 

You look at Joel, waiting for him to answer. But Joel is expectantly gazing at you. A playful smirk ghosts across his lips. He thinks it’s your duty to explain the birds, the bees, and everything between them to Ellie. Of course, she knows most of it. But she questions absolutely everything. Just yesterday, you had the unfortunate experience of explaining anal to her; Joel walked out of the house when she asked and didn’t return until later. 

You poke a finger into Joel’s chest, hissing at him, “It’s your turn,” 

His face goes slack before he gives you a sullen look. He pouts those luscious lips of his, “But darlin'….” 

“Don't darlin' me, mister. You owe me for yesterday,” 

Joel continues to pout but eventually relents. He turns to Ellie with a face void of any emotion: “It’s a classic movie from the 2000s,” 

“Yeah, but what does shagged mean?” Ellie asks. Her eyes look between you and Joel, waiting for an answer. Joel grows uncomfortable. He’s never been one to talk about this kind of stuff. 

“Yeah, Joel. What does shagged mean?” You ask. 

“It- it… it means…” Joel stutters and stumbles over the words. His face is turning pink. He looks flustered as he searches for the right thing to say. You’re enjoying him floundering around. In one great, big breath, Joel spills out: “It’s a British slang term for intercourse,” 

Ellie blinks at him several times as she repeats what Joel just said to her. She starts chuckling, “Shagged means sex?!” Ellie turns into a mess of laughter. She’s clutching her sides. It’s not that funny. But you like watching her have fun. It brings back the innocence and reminds you of childhood. You were young when the movie came out, and the world was ravaged by fungus a few years after. So you cherish this moment of hilarity. You rub your tummy and smile at how much fun you will have raising this new baby with Joel and Ellie -

You don’t make it to movie night because you’re busy with the nursery, and the thought of walking all the way to town hall makes you cringe. You don’t like going anywhere unless it is essential. You make Joel and Ellie do everything for you. There are still some things you do yourself.

You insist Joel and Ellie go. Ellie doesn’t fight it (she’s so excited to watch a piece of history), but Joel grumbles about it. He wants to stay and help. By helping, Joel means he wants to milk you. He can’t stop helping you, and it’s the only thing on his mind - Joel swears he even dreams about it now. However, there hasn’t been a single moment for him to help you. Tommy has Joel doing everything and anything, and between his brother and Ellie, Joel hasn’t had time for his new hobby. 

So, after he drops Ellie off at the movie (making sure that she is settled and making sure that Tommy will bring her home after), Joel leaves and makes his way back to you. He wants to spend every free minute with you, but more importantly, this is the perfect opportunity to do what he’s been dreaming of without any interruptions. Joel needs his thirst quenched, and only one thing in this world can do it -

You hear him before you see him, and then you feel him. His arms wrap around your body, and he presses his chest into your back. You sink into the warmth, eyes closing and throat humming. His hands briefly touch your stomach before they find their rightful place. Joel cups your tits, placing each of them into his hands, and marvels at the heaviness. So full of his special cream. 

“They’ve gotten bigger, haven’t they?” Joel murmurs. His cock is already hard and straining inside his pants. Hell, on the walk home, the prospect of milking you had him almost cumming right then and there. 

“They’re definitely heavier,” Joel adds as he squeezes them. He notices you aren’t wearing a bra, and with one simple motion, he has his shirt on the floor (the only one that fits you). You’re facing him now, chest and belly exposed. The sight of you has him losing it. Joel feels happy and excited, and everything in between that. Joel can’t believe that you're his, and he’s yours. Nor can he believe his eyes because your tits are definitely bigger, and your nipples are already dewy with that milky nectar he loves so much. 

Joel groans, latches his mouth onto your right side, and starts suckling like a starved man. Your nipple is already stiff and responsive, and you feel the sensation of milk rushing through to meet your partner’s greedy tongue. His hand expertly kneads the pillowy flesh, expressing even more of the sweet cream that has him hard as a rock. Joel starts to breathe deeper and sucks harder, causing you to moan. 

Your fingers comb through Joel’s hair, and you hold him there because the pleasure of having Joel drain your tits is undeniable; in fact, the more Joel sucks and licks your nipple, the more your arousal grows. You have to remind him, “Joel…. We have less than ninety minutes -”

He grunts in response and moves his mouth to the other side he’s been neglecting. The feeling is indescribable, and you relish it. The relief Joel is giving you is insurmountable. But it also has you growing impatient with him. Your core is aching for his cock, and your hands travel over his body. You feel his muscles, thick and robust, beneath the plaid shirt. You need him now. 

“Joel,” Your hand drops to the bulge in his jeans, and you gently rub it with purpose. The friction makes Joel groan, finally lifting his head from your tits. His eyes are filled with a dazy lustiness that makes you fumble with your words. Still, it doesn’t matter because Joel is suddenly pressing his lips against yours and kissing you with an ardour that makes you forget everything you are about to say. 

You taste the substance that has Joel acting ravenous. It reminds you of cereal milk because it’s so sweet. You part from his lips, whispering, “Can I taste you now?” 

He doesn’t have time to answer because you’re already lowering yourself to your knees, planting them on the ground in front of Joel. With one hand, you pop open the buttons of his jeans and pull down the zipper. Roughly, you tug at the opening and watch as his thick, luscious cock springs free from its confines. At the sight of it, you lick your lips. Your fingers wrap around his length and slide over his stiffness. The movement makes Joel shiver, and when your lips finally touch his cock, a groan escapes from his throat.

Joel has been so concerned about making you feel good that he forgot to consider himself. Suddenly, you thrust him inside your mouth while twisting your hand down his cock. He quickly fills your mouth, and his hand grasps your hair in hopes of controlling you. However, he’s fine with letting you have your way right now. It’s been a while since you had the opportunity to please him; Joel loves how the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you’re so adept at sucking him off that his length doesn’t make you gag anymore  - 

Expertly, you glide your mouth from the hilt to the tip of Joel’s cock, coating it in your saliva. Joel’s eyes nearly roll into his head because it feels so fucking good. It’s the only thing he can tell you because he’s almost lost his mind from the bliss of your mouth sheathing his cock. You don’t stop until Joel gasps for air and asks you to stop. 

“Babe, babe, babe,” His voice is husky, and he roughly pulls on your hair. You gasp and gaze up at him with a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. Joel quivers at the sight and has to remember what he will say. You wait patiently. Obediently. 

Breathlessly, he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you here? Or…”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Here,” 

Joel doesn’t need to be told twice and is quick to shed his jeans before he starts to help you. You lean forward onto the palm of your hands and watch as Joel goes behind and begins to slide off the sweatpants you’re always wearing. Not that Joel minds. He knows it’s the only thing that fits you because you remind him every damn day. Once the sweatpants are off, he tosses them to the side and stares lovingly at your ass. It’s so round and perky and panty-less. He’s genuinely surprised, and it makes him smile. 

He caresses your fleshy cheeks, asking, “Is this for me?”

Joel can’t see your face but can tell you are blushing. Sheepishly, you admit, “As soon as you left, I took them off - for easy access,”

“Oh, darlin’,” He swoons, “You’re so sweet to think of me,”

Joel pries your sweet cheeks apart and buries his face, his tongue immediately swirling around your puckered asshole. Mewls spill forth from your mouth, and you wiggle your hips, trying to splay them apart because your body needs more. Joel’s tongue slithers down, lapping the juice practically pouring out of your needy, swollen cunt. He licks and sucks with wild abandon, groaning at your deliciousness. He doesn’t stop until you are begging him, “Joel, fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock, please. Oh god, fuck me, already!”

He removes his mouth from your exterior and replaces it with his cock. He rubs and rubs his bulbous crown between your molten wetness, gliding it back and forth until it’s coated with your slickness. When he thinks it’s enough, he pushes into your tight cunt. At first, your channel is resistant. But slowly, your velvety walls happily start devouring Joel’s cock until his entire length basks in the warmth. 

You are gasping at the sensation of being stretched out. It’s almost too much in this position, and a small rock of Joel’s hips gives way to your first orgasm. Your vision swirls as a wave of ecstasy comes crashing through. Your fingers grip the carpet as your cunt swells and clenches his cock. Your back arches as you cry out, “Fuck, Joel,”

Immediately, he stops, thinking he has hurt you or the baby. Panic-stricken, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“N-n-nothing,” You stutter out, attempting to catch your breath. Your lungs greedily suck in the air, saturated with the smell of sex. You tell him, “You made me cum,”

“Already?” He murmurs and devilishly thinks about the five times he made you cum last week. Joel rocks his hips again, and you whimper at the movement. At a glacial pace, Joel pulls out before sliding back in and burying his cock to the hilt. You’re gripping the carpet and moaning like crazy. He’s sure the neighbours can hear you, which drives Joel forward. He wants them to know how good he is at fucking you. 

Joel grabs your hips, nails sinking into the fleshy bits, and plows in and out of your pussy. He’s pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in, ensuring you feel every inch of his girthy length. Your body is rocking beneath his, tits swaying like udders. You reach between your legs to touch your clit. It’s pulsating and yearning to be touched. You gingerly circle it, knowing a light touch is enough to send you over the edge. And you’re right because, within seconds, your second orgasm is rolling through.

You wail, “Joel, Joel, Joel,” but Joel doesn’t stop this time. He continues to youthfully spear your pussy and watches as your creamy juices coat his cock. Vigorously, you rub your clit because a third orgasm is imminent. Your back arches and your hips are high in the air, and Joel stops, pulling out completely, to watch as your pussy trembles with another orgasm. Your thighs are dripping with your juices, and his name still spills out of your mouth. Repeatedly. 

His hand squeezes your hip, “Mmm, darlin’. That’s your third one - should we slow down? Don’t want to hurt -”

“Need more,” You interrupt him, “Need to cum more, Joel,”

Joel shakes his head, “Darlin’,'' He knows you aren’t thinking straight, driven to recklessness because of the pure ecstasy that has raptured your body. You turn over, laying on your back. You splay your legs apart, and your pussy glistens in the light. It’s so swollen, so puffy. Your hand is back, and your fingers are working your clit. But from this angle, it’s a little more challenging because of your protruding belly. And it’s making you frustrated. Especially because Joel is just watching, not helping. 

“Joel,” You growl, “Fuck me,”

A single eyebrow of his shoots up, and you begrudgingly mutter, “Please,”

Much to your surprise, Joel moves. However, instead, he hovers above your chest and settles his cock in the valley of your tits. His hands squeeze them, and the milk for his unborn child sprays out, sprinkling across your chest and hitting his cock. At first, Joel goes slow, his cock passing between your tits. It’s a different kind of friction and holy hell… it feels good. His cock, slippery with your juices and milk, has him gliding through your breasts with ease. He grips harder and fucks your tits faster, rocking his hips back and forth. 

As he slips in and out, he milks your bountiful breasts in the process. He does it until you are soaked. He’s breathing hard, and his balls are tightening. He’s close, so fucking close. But he doesn’t want to finish like this because he knows you want more orgasms, and who is he to deny his pregnant partner? You have been carrying his baby for months, and it hasn’t been easy. And Joel knows that once the baby is born, you won’t be able to have sex for weeks. Not until you’re healed. So, why not let you live a little? 

He pulls his cock out of your cleavage and moves his face to yours, kissing you passionately. His tongue swirls and mingles with yours before he shifts down. Joel latches his mouth around your nipple and practically inhales a gulp of cream into his mouth. He doesn’t swallow and comes back up, kissing you again. Messily, Joel washes your mouth with your milk. It’s sweet and warm, and it’s fucking kinky as hell. It has you moaning into Joel’s mouth. He moans back, letting you know he loves every moment of it too.

As he continues to kiss you, Joel reaches down and takes his cock, sliding it over your puffy and sensitive lips before pressing it into your velvet channel. Your body welcomes him, and your mouth drops, gasping as you effortlessly fit his entire length . Once more, Joel explores your warm depths with a vigorous youthfulness. His flesh is clapping yours over and over until you are yelling his name over and over. Your hands are gripping his forearms, nails digging into his skin. 

“Mmm, Joel, mmm, Joel, gonna cum, Joel, mmm - fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your eyes roll back, and an unwavering fourth climax raptures your body. A euphoric release rolls across your body, and you undulate beneath Joel. He watches as your belly quivers, and he feels your cunt trying to expel him, and when he does finally pull out, a massive bolt of liquid escapes - he realizes you’re squirting. Something he’s only heard rumours about. He’s astonished by the amount of liquid that is coming out and by how long your orgasm is lasting.

Meanwhile, you are gasping for air, lungs greedily gulping it down. You have no idea what happened; all you know is it’s a big wet mess down there. You’re gazing at Joel, cock-drunk. Orgasm-drunk. Your brain is buzzing with satisfaction. Your fixation on cumming has been satiated. However, your partner is still rock hard. He still needs to cum, and he’s more eager than ever before. He shoves his cock back in, and the molten wetness has his cock quivering as his climax punches through, pushing him over the edge.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn’t have to - the damage is done. You’re reaping what he sowed. Joel shoots his seed as far into you as possible with a single thrust. His hands touch your belly, caressing the soft skin, and he pushes his cock even deeper, where he empties the rest of his balls. When he pulls out, his cum mixed with yours oozes out from your crease and pools onto the carpet beneath you. 

You dare to smile up at him, murmuring: “Thank you, Daddy,”

[papersoilder]

(Yandere Oc) Ian x Male Reader

ˑ 𖥔 ּ ִ 𖦹 WARNINGS: none

̽𖧧 word count: 2000– more Ian content because why not can be viewed as a part 2 of this

You heard the cigarette before you smelled it. That flick of a cheap lighter, the hiss of the flame catching. Then the smoke bitter and clinging, the smell crept into your lungs as you stepped out of your apartment building.

Ian was leaning against the rusted railing like he always did. One hand in his pocket. The other bringing the cigarette to his lips.

“You’re late,” he said, not looking at you.

You didn’t ask how he knew your schedule. He always knew.

“I didn’t say we were meeting,” you replied, adjusting your backpack.

He tilted his head like a dog hearing something only he could. “Didn’t need to.”

You started walking. He fell in step beside you without asking, like he always did. You didn’t ask him to leave either. That never worked. You’d tried before.

“You’re quiet today,” he said after a block. “Something happen?”

“Nope.” You replied calmly popping the p.

“You sure?” His voice was light, but his stare cut sideways those sleepless eyes scanning your face like it was a confession waiting to be read. “You didn’t text me back last night.”

“I was busy.”

“With him?”

There it was. That drop in his voice. The shift from casual to possessive in half a breath. You stopped walking and turned to face him.

“Ian.”

His stare didn’t waver. He held his cigarette between his fingers like it was keeping him from grabbing something else. Maybe you. Maybe his self-control.

“If I find out you followed him again,” you said, low and flat, “we’re done. No more talking. You won’t see me again.”

He didn’t blink. But his mouth twitched. “Did something happen to him?”

“No. But if you keep pushing, something will.”

Ian took a long drag from his cigarette. Then he tossed it to the curb and stepped on it. “Fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“I said fine, didn’t I?” His hands went back in his hoodie pocket. He turned and started walking again. “Come on. You’ll be late for class.”

You stood there for a second longer, watching the back of his head. The way he slouched when he walked, like he carried too much weight in his shoulders. Then you sighed and followed him.

The first time Ian showed up at your window was a year ago. Second story, middle of the night, rain hitting the glass. You should’ve screamed. Called the cops. Instead, you opened the latch.

“What are you doing here?” you whispered.

He was soaked. Hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. “Saw you get into that guy’s car earlier.”

You stared at him. “So you climbed two stories.”

“He put his hand on your leg,” Ian said, like it was a crime. Like that alone justified trespassing.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped aside and let him in.

Since then, he never really stopped. He didn’t ask. He didn’t knock. Sometimes he waited outside your class. Sometimes you woke up and he was asleep on your couch like he belonged there. You stopped being surprised around the third or fourth time. Maybe that was the mistake.

But it wasn’t that you didn’t care. You just… got used to it.

That afternoon, you were alone in your apartment when Ian texted.

Ian [4:31 PM]: can i come up?

You [4:32 PM]: door’s open

Five minutes later, he was at your table, picking at your leftover takeout without asking. You sat across from him, scrolling on your phone.

“Why do you let me do this?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up. “Do what?”

“This.” He gestured around vaguely. “Be here. Be close.”

You set your phone down. “Because if I said no, you’d show up anyway. You’ve never cared about boundaries.”

His jaw flexed. “You hate me?”

“No.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “If I hated you, you’d know.”

He stared at you again unblinking, unnerving. You’d gotten used to that, too. There was something sad buried in it, like he didn’t know what to do with his own intensity. Like no one had ever taught him how to want something without ruining it.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said quietly.

“You don’t scare me,” you said. “But you do piss me off.”

He blinked. That startled him more than anything else.

You stood, walked around the table, and stopped in front of him. “You want me to be okay with you being like this? Fine. I’ve accepted it. But that means you follow my rules now.”

Ian looked up at you. “What rules?”

“No hurting people. No following people. No threats. No sabotage. No ‘accidents.’ You want to be close to me? Don’t make me regret it.”

His mouth opened, then closed again. You watched the storm roll behind his eyes—violent, needy, desperate. But he nodded.

“Okay.”

You nodded back and sat on the couch. “Now get over here.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Later, you were half-asleep on the couch. Ian was beside you, arms folded, eyes glued to the ceiling like sleep was a language he couldn’t speak. You shifted, your shoulder brushing his.

“You ever gonna stop looking at me like I’ll disappear?”

He didn’t answer for a long time.

“You ever gonna stop pretending you don’t want me to look at you like that?” he said eventually.

You chuckled. “Maybe not.”

There was quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward. You could feel his breath slow beside you. Like proximity calmed something in him. You didn’t need to ask what. You knew.

“You’re not a monster, Ian,” you said, eyes closed.

“Sometimes I think I am.”

You opened your eyes and turned to him. He was already watching you.

“You do anything like last time again like hurting someone for being too close and I’ll walk. For real.”

He nodded, solemn.

“But,” you added, “if you want to be here, and you can hold that shit back, I won’t go anywhere.”

His hand twitched like he wanted to touch you, but didn’t know how. “I can try.”

You stared at him for a second, then reached over and put your hand over his. “Try harder. Because I do like you, Ian. I just need you to act like you’re worth being liked.”

His fingers closed around yours.

And for once, he didn’t say anything. Just held your hand like it was proof you were real. Like if he let go, he’d wake up back in that hollow place he came from.

You didn’t pull away.

Not that night.

Not yet.

[doumidas-whumps]

no longer in solitude

Porter's first impression of Sonny, the new pet.

a little something from Port's POV this time (and by "a little something" I mean 2000 words). this is the night Sonny is brought to his new home.

consider this a sort-of prequel to this.

cw: BBU/pet whump, abusive master, whumpee emotionally attached to whumper

All day, the house was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. It made Port a little twitchy. It seemed quieter than usual today, quiet enough that the florescent lights buzzing in his ears were making him sick. He had to step out of the bathroom halfway through cleaning the shower, scrubbing brush abandoned by the drain. He rinsed his hands and pressed his cool, clean palms to his eyes. Memories of lying alone in that cold, featureless room in the facility flashed behind his eyelids. 

He tried to think of something else, his master coming to mind easily. He had left for work that morning without a word to Port, just as he had the past two days. Mr. Oz hadn’t been speaking to him lately. In fact, he’d barely even looked at him.

Maybe something at work was bothering him. Did his boss yell at him? Could it be that the coworker he always complained about was getting on his nerves? Maybe it was unrelated to work; maybe he had lost more money at the casino. The last time that had happened, Mr. Oz lost two grand playing blackjack or poker or whatever it was and when he came home he threw one of his shoes at Port’s head. Port dodged it on instinct, which just made him angrier. Though come to think of it, Port hadn’t had any projectiles thrown at him, lately, so maybe it wasn’t that.

The grandfather clock started chiming, shaking Port out of his uneasy thoughts. He took a grounding breath and reentered the bathroom. 

After the bathroom was the living room. He pulled the remote out from between the couch cushions, itching to turn the TV on for some background noise. He set the remote in its proper place on the glass coffee table, next to a box of playing cards. He didn’t have permission to watch TV today. 

Lately Mr. Oz had been getting home around 7:00, so Port started dinner at 6:30. Talking to him over dinner was usually the most exciting part of Port’s day, but the two previous nights he had taken his dinner up to his room, leaving Port to clean up in silence. He hoped today would be better.

Dinner was finished by 6:55. He left it on the stove on low heat. When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 7:20, Port put it in the fridge. He had already cleaned the the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the living room, the kitchen, even under the fridge, under the oven, and the tops of the doorways. He supposed the bookshelf could do with some dusting. 

When Mr. Oz still wasn’t home by 9:00 and Port had truly run out of productive things to do, he grabbed the playing cards from the coffee table and kneeled on the Persian carpet, arranging them for a game of solitaire. Mr. Oz had never explicitly forbid him from playing card games, so Port figured it was okay as long as he put everything away before he got back. 

By the time the clock chimed for the second time since he’d started playing, marking 11 o’ clock, Port was starting to get concerned. It wasn’t uncommon for his master to stay out after work, but 11:00 P.M. was far later than usual, especially on a Thursday night. 

Port had been in the living room for hours, having long since adjusted to a more comfortable sitting position. His current game was not going well. Stuck, Port listened to the ticking clock while he tried to figure out how to salvage it. It was hard to think when his eyes were drifting closed. He had gotten up at 5 A.M. that morning, like usual, and he wasn’t allowed to sleep until his master turned in for the night.

Port gave up on the game and rested his elbows on the coffee table, shifting the cards underneath his arms. He stared at the blinking colon of the digital clock under the TV, willing himself to stay awake. He should probably get up and move around, but the combination of the blinking and the ticking had a hypnotizing effect.

Just as the clock blinked to 11:08, he heard the garage door screech open and jerked awake. Port hastily gathered the cards into a stack and slid them into their box. He rose to his feet and padded to the side door to greet his master, where he waited eagerly, a smile already on his face. 

The door swung open and Mr. Oz stepped through into the yellow light of the hall. His cheeks were ruddy, teeth visible in a grin. Port found it encouraging.

“Welcome home,” Port greeted. “How was your—”

Port was startled as another figure appeared out of the darkness in the doorway behind him. His first split-second thought was that it was one of his master’s friends, as it wasn’t unusual for him to invite people over. The thought was dashed as soon as he spotted the supple black collar around the figure’s neck. 

It was a boy— a young man— who stepped into the hall, eyes cast down. Port couldn’t see his features too well at this angle— only his shining black hair, which was neatly parted down the middle of his scalp. 

Port realized his mouth was still open and shut it. Once he pulled his eyes away from the pet he noticed that Mr. Oz was looking at him, eyes glimmering. “Porter, this is Sonny.” He clapped the boy on the back, who visibly jumped. (A sign of poor training.) “He’ll be helping you out around the house.”

Every question running through Port’s mind was cut short. Was he saying what Port thought he was saying? “Sir, do you mean…?”

“That’s right! You get to have a little playmate, doesn’t that sound great?”

Port blinked.

Mr. Oz was looking at the pet with some sort of fondness. “I’ve had my eye on him for a while now… you should’ve seen the look on David’s face.” His hand moved to the pet's neck, whose shoulders raised higher. “I’m gonna get him a collar like yours,” Mr. Oz said, hooking a finger under the nylon. “So you can match.”

Some buzzing feeling was spreading through Port. His chest was shivering. He felt his smile grow wider. He clasped his hands in front of him and squeezed. “This is great, sir.”

Mr. Oz smiled back at him. It felt good to be on the same page as his master, to be excited with him. Port was already imagining what it would be like to have another presence in the house. Someone to help with housework, to get to know, to talk with like an an equal. A small spike of guilt struck him at the thought. His master was supposed to fulfill all his needs. He shouldn’t be craving the company of another pet, of all things. And yet…

Mr. Oz grabbed Sonny roughly by the shoulders and pushed him closer to Port, made them stand shoulder-to-shoulder. Sonny had to be at least half a foot shorter than him. 

He watched Mr. Oz admire them both, mind working. His hand shot out to Sonny’s face so fast that Sonny jerked back and Port nearly flinched. Mr. Oz gripped him by the face, dimpling his cheek with his thumb as he tilted his head upwards. “Look at me,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll have you…” He trailed off, eyes growing dark. “What’s with that face?”

Port glanced down to gauge for himself. On Sonny’s face was an unmistakable expression: fear. 

“Are you scared?” asked their master. He was no longer smiling.

Sonny said nothing. Port’s heart beat fast for him. Mr. Oz did not like to go unanswered.

“Well?”

Sonny hesitated too long. Mr. Oz released Sonny’s face only to crack his hand across it like a whip. Sonny nearly collided into Port’s shoulder, hand raising as if to cradle his rapidly flushing cheek. Port felt a rising sense of alarm. Where was this boy trained?

Mr. Oz’s hand grasped Sonny’s wrist, halting it in place. “Please, sir—“ Sonny finally spoke.

“Who taught you to act like this?” He was yelling, now. “Were you disciplined at all?”

Port couldn’t help himself. “Sir, he’s just—” 

His master whirled on him. “I don’t wanna hear a single word outta you!” 

Port’s jaw clicked shut.

He turned back to Sonny, who was lowering towards the floor like his knees were buckling. Mr. Oz  released Sonny’s wrist and ran both hands through his short hair, something he always did when he was exasperated. “Way to ruin my damn mood.” He rubbed his eyes, and when his fists fell he locked eyes with Port. They were slightly red. “Take him to your room,” he said. “Explain the rules.” His gaze drifted to Sonny, who now had his arms wrapped around himself. Mr. Oz sighed, pinching his brow. “If he doesn’t fix his behavior… we’re gonna have some problems.” Port felt Sonny curl further into himself beside him.

“Yes, sir.” Port wasted no time in guiding Sonny upstairs with a gentle hand on his upper back. He pushed open the door to his room— their room, now. There wasn’t much. A dresser, a blanket, a pillow, the soft rug he slept on. A painting of a seagull hung on the far wall. Port would have to grab another pillow and blanket for Sonny from the linen closet— that is, if Mr. Oz didn’t decide to revoke his bedding privileges for that little display.

Now that they were out of earshot, Port felt comfortable enough to speak. He needed to give Sonny the rundown on how things worked around here. But first… “Are you alright?”

Sonny lifted his head, looking directly at Port for the first time. His eyes were so dark Port couldn’t see the pupils. They shone like black pearls, wet. His cheeks were dry, the left still colored from the slap, but his face was otherwise unblemished. He looked young. His mouth made no movement.

“You can speak, right?”

Sonny’s gaze lowered. “Sorry,” he whispered. “This is a lot.”

Port sighed, feeling a pang of sympathy. The boy didn’t seem very experienced. “It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s sit down.” 

Sonny wasted no time in dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. Port went to his knees in front of him, but after a few seconds decided to readjust and sit on his bottom to be more casual. He gave Sonny a minute of silence to calm down before speaking again.

“I don’t know what that was, but—” you shouldn’t be so scared? I hope you’re okay? You can’t do that again? “—he isn’t as bad as you seem to think he is.”

Sonny looked at him again, now reproachfully. Port tried a smile. “Are you new?”

His eyes turned sharp, flicking up and down Port’s figure. “Six months outta training,” he muttered. Secondhand? Sonny seemed to be considering him. “You’re not new.”

“No.” 

“You’re W.R.U.?” Dubya-arr-yoo.

“…Yes.” Technically. 

Sonny hummed, lowering his chin. “You kinda seem like it.”

Port wasn’t sure how to feel about that, or what could have possibly given him that impression, so he just asked, “Where are you from, if not W.R.U.?” Port knew of at least two knock-offs. “I didn’t even know Mr. Oz was looking for another pet.”

Sonny just sighed and lowered his head further so his forehead touched the tops of his knees, face hidden. 

Well, alright. Considering they were equals, Port supposed Sonny wasn’t obligated to answer him.

[houseofioli]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64016278/chapters/164220208#workskin

An AU where Tianlang-jun becomes an overbearing father and wedding planner and decides to plan SQQ and LBH's entire wedding – a decision that drives LBH absolutly insane.

Featuring 2000s romcom vibes,  a lovely pager-wearing assistant (Zhuzhi-lang), and an extremly disgruntled groom.

Snippet below...

“ Please , Shizun,” he’d been kneeling on the floor, arms clasped around Shen Qingqiu’s (oh so fucking delicate) waist, pleading. 

“Binghe,” an exasperated sigh that was starting to tinge on amusement, a sure-sign that Luo Binghe was close to winning their argument. He deepened his pout. “I can’t say that .”

“Why not,” a whine that elongated every vowel.

“It’s–” frustration ate up the rest of the word. Embarrassing, was left unsaid. 

A big blink of his eyes, a feature he’d realized early into their relationship that Shen Qingqiu was utterly weak to. He shuffled closer, squeezing his arms around his fiance’s waist. Flexing his biceps in an innocent way that had Shen Qingqiu swallowing and averting his eyes. Luo Binghe had to work hard to keep his smile at bay, deepening his frown and the tremble in his voice, “But, isn’t it going to be true soon anyway, Shizun?”

“Well, I never agreed to take your–Binghe, don’t look at me like that– Binghe! ”

15 minutes later, they had a new voicemail greeting, letting callers know they’d reached Mr and Mr Luo. 

[ragingbookdragon]

If You Ever Loved Me, Have Mercy

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Sad...?

Author's Note: :') not me self-projecting -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost didn’t really understand her. He did, but there were times when she acted awfully funny whenever he’d do something for her. Like bouquets. Now, Simon “Ghost” Riley never grew up with a father who gave his mother flowers, and he was going to be the link in the chain that broke, because he’d be damned if he didn’t show his appreciation for his lover. Except every time he gave her a bouquet of flowers, she smiled like her face was going to split in half, and she thanked him profusely for it, holding it to her chest like it was the rarest thing in the world.

Other times, he tried to pay for things, and she refused vehemently, saying she could cover it, and part of Ghost wanted to feel like his manhood was being disrespected because he was supposed to pay for her, but the other part understood she was a grown adult who was independent.

It was a quiet night in his apartment, and she’d finally managed to get Ghost to sit down and relax on the couch while she cooked dinner for them. He occasionally watched her from the kitchen, unable to help the small grin on his face as she danced around and sang to old 2000’s Kesha songs.

About fifteen minutes later, the music shut off, and she appeared with two bowls of steaming food that had his stomach gurgling. “Hungry?” she teased, handing him a bowl with more than a good helping.

“Starved,” he replied, looking at it. “What’d you make, love?”

She shifted slightly and grinned at the nickname, another thing he found endearing about her. “Goulash.”

“Never had it,” he said, already sticking the spoon in his mouth, only to open his mouth and “Hafhashhath.”

“It’s hot, Simon,” she deadpanned. “I just pulled it out of the skillet.”

His eyes watered as she passed him a glass of water and he nodded a thanks. She curled up with her own bowl next to him, her knees brushing his thigh; quietly, she blew on her spoon before eating. They ate in silence, other than the couple times Ghost complimented her cooking.

It was only after, when she was taking their bowls that he asked, “Love, can we talk about something?” She froze, a look of something he could only describe as panic on her face. “Love?”

She recovered and smiled at him. “Yeah, let me put this in the dishwasher.”

As she hurried into the kitchen, Ghost watched in silence as a multitude of emotions crossed in her eyes, the biggest being anxiety and hurt.

Coming back, she sat down on the couch, this time, a good few inches from him and he looked at her for a moment. “You alright, love?”

“Mhm,” she lied, nodding her head, and he noticed that her eyes were on the couch cushion.

“Love, can you look at me?” She did so and he smiled slightly, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. “There’s my pretty, poppy,” he murmured, and her eyes flooded with tears, shocking him. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed a lump the size of her fist in her throat, making a gesture with her hand as if it were going to help her speak. “I—” she shut her mouth, eyes closing as tears dripped down her cheeks, and Ghost shifted, reaching up to wipe her face.

“Love, whatever’s going on, you can tell me.” He tilted her chin up and she opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What’s got you in a mess?”

Eyelashes dampened with tears, she blinked a few times and asked quietly, “Are you going to stop seeing me?”

Ghost paused, brows furrowing in confusion. “Beg pardon?”

“You said you wanted to talk about something,” she replied, voice still a murmur. “I assume you don’t want to keep seeing me.”

He was still entirely confused. “I don’t even know where to start with how you got to this point.” He took her hand. “Love, why would I want to stop seeing you?”

She frowned. “I’ve…never been in a committed relationship.”

This shocked him, but suddenly, everything about her reactions and how she seemed so excited all the time with him made sense.

“When people find out that I’ve never had one…” her lips pulled downwards in an expression he never wanted to see her make again; she looked so heartbroken. “They make excuses and stop seeing me. One guy told me,” tears filled her eyes again and she laughed pitifully. “He said, ‘I’m not going to teach you everything. I’m not your parent.’” Her eyes met his. “I stopped dating after that…until I met you. I was scared to even try. But you, Simon, you…you’re the best thing that’s ever stepped into my life.”

“Love,” he started and she reached forward, taking his hand.

“Give me a chance, please,” she begged. “I’ve been reading and watching videos about relationships. Simon, you won’t have to teach me anything. I swear, I can learn, and I have been. I can—”

“Love,” he interrupted, and she appeared crestfallen, pulling her hand away.

“Simon,” she whispered. “If you’re gonna break my heart, just break it and please make this fast.” Her eyes met his. “If any part of you cares, just have mercy.”

Ghost reached over and grabbed the meat of her hip, pulling her into his lap where she refused to look at him, until he took her chin in his hand like he had earlier and made her look at him. “Love,” he said, and she met his eyes. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Huh?”

Ghost brushed his thumb over her lips. “I’ve spent my entire life being afraid to love someone because I didn’t want to turn into my dad. And then, six months ago, you ran smack into me, and I couldn’t believe that there was someone who wanted to be with me.” He gazed at her. “I’m as fucked up as they come, poppy, and you still want to be with me.”

“Of course, I do,” she whispered. “I…I love you, Simon.”

His eyes lit up as he smiled and leaned forward, nuzzling her nose. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

“One more time.”

“I love you, Simon,” she confessed, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You make me happy. And I’m so lucky to have you.”

“As you should, I don’t like most people,” he joked and she snorted, causing him to smile. “And she smiles!”

She looked down, playing with one of his sweatshirt strings. “So…you like me?”

“I love you,” he answered, and her eyes went wide, mouth snapping shut. “Poppy, I love you more than the world. I think about you all the time. I feel…I feel like I have a reason to live again. For you.” Tears flooded her vision and he chuckled lowly. “You cry an awful lot, love.”

“Stop teasing me,” she sniffled. “I’m new to this.” As if she remembered suddenly, she looked up. “You’re okay with me being inexperienced in…like everything?”

“Just means we get to learn together,” he replied and ran his hand over her cheek. “Besides, I don’t plan on letting another man having you ever again.”

Her face felt hot, and she looked suddenly flustered. “That sounds like a serious long-term commitment, Simon.”

His chest rumbled with a grunt. “Listen well, love,” he started, hand lowering to poke at the center of her chest. “That’s mine, and I’m not letting it go. Ever.”

She placed her hand on his chest. “Does that mean that this one is mine too?”

“Every cold inch.”

Her eyes lit up with a gentle sort of happiness and she murmured, “Your heart isn’t cold, Simon. It’s very warm. And…gentle.” She looked at him. “My gentle giant.”

He hummed with a small smirk and tapped her cheek. “Don’t let anyone know. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

“Okay, big guy,” she retorted and curled into him, head tucked under his chin.

After a moment, she kept squirming and he asked, “You alright?”

She paused, then blurted out, “I have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“You’re also gonna sleep in a bed with your boyfriend. So, two firsts in one night.”

She jerked away, eyes wide. “I can’t sleep with you!”

Ghost’s brows furrowed and he inquired, “You wanna take the couch then?”

“Wait, what?”

He thumped her forehead. “Mind out of the gutter, love.”

Her eyes narrowed in a glare, and she griped, “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe,” he teased, and she harrumphed, turning her head.

“Rude. So mean to tease your girlfriend.”

He tickled her side a little until she laughed. “Not my fault she’s easy to tease.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Hmmm…how can I ever make it up to you?” he asked, and she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Carry me to bed and hold me all night?” she paused. “And maybe give me a shirt to borrow?”

“I get to see you in my clothes?” Ghost grinned, picking her up as she yelped from shock. “That’s an affirmative.”

Her laughter peeled through the hallway as he carried her to the bedroom with enthusiasm.

[pavlovianfuckery]

lets not pretend we're not all nuts for The Voice

A/N: Re-uploading all my fics after having a slight mental breakdown and deleting everything so this is kind of old, but bone apple tea and all that anyway

AO3

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Summary: I blame the dreamcast and Tom Sturridges voice entirely for this, it's all his fault really, here is some lazy hypnosis for you

Pairing: Dream/F!Reader

Notes: Hypnosis, (imaginary) oral, no use of y/n

Length: 2000~ words

That you found his hands beautiful had never been a secret. It seemed to amuse him how you could watch him do the most mundane things, never tiring of simply looking at him. The first time he'd truly noticed the extent of the effect his hands had on you, it had been completely by accident. You'd simply been reading in companionable silence after a long and tiring day, as you sometimes did. As per usual, you couldn't help sneaking glances at him from time to time, like a schoolgirl with a crush still. Taking in the lean lines of his body, your gaze ended up lingering on his hands again, which was not unusual in itself.  What was interesting was the way he absentmindedly kept drumming his index finger on the back of the book in his hands. At first, you simply enjoy the graceful way his tendons move, the delicate look to his wrist as he turns the page.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

The rhythm was almost like a heartbeat, and soon you found yourself unable to look away. Your body felt a bit heavy, thoughts going a bit fuzzy at the edges, the book you had been reading forgotten in your lap. 

Tap... Tap... Tap...

It was...nice. You didn't want to look away. Your own heartbeat was a dull thunder in your ears as everything was reduced to that one small movement of his finger.

Tap... Tap... Tap...

Everything felt warm. Relaxed. Soft. You were vaguely aware that he was speaking, but it was hard to pay attention. Shaking your head, you tried to clear your thoughts. "Sorry. Guess I spaced out for a minute there..." "Is that so?" He put the book to the side and gave you a curious look, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You scarcely even blinked for quite some time, my love." You winced, a bit embarrassed. "It is quite alright. In fact, you might have given me...an idea, of a sort."                                                                      ⁂

You're not sure what he meant by 'idea', but you supposed you'll find out sooner rather than later. He hasn't been secretive per se, but not exactly forthcoming either. Watching him shrug off his coat and leave it folded over the back of the couch, you wrack your brain, trying to figure out what he's planning. You come up empty though, distracted by the way the muscles of his forearms move as he unlaces his boots, taking them off. Everything about him looks softer like this, more touchable. But he's rarely in this kind of playful mood and you're too curious to see what he's going to do to risk derailing it somehow, so you wait, fighting down the urge to run your hands across his shoulders, so tempting in just the thin t-shirt.  "Do you trust me?" "You know I do." That seems to please him, otherworldly eyes softening as he kisses you lightly, fingers brushing your cheek. "Will you indulge me for now, then?" You kiss him back, unable to hold back a smile. "Of course, I will." "Good." With that, he gets on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, resting his hands on his bent knees. "Undress for me." His voice feels like molasses sliding over you, and you waste no time obeying, his eyes on you the entire time. The look on his face can only be described as mischievous as he pats the covers next to him. "Come here." He doesn't need to ask twice, the words barely have time to leave his mouth before you join him on the bed, eager to please. With the barest flash of a smile, he spreads his legs a bit wider, beckoning you closer. "Here. Let me hold you, my sweet." Not what you thought he was going to say but you don't object, letting him pull you close, enjoying the press of his chest against your back. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against your skin like something almost solid. "I simply need you to relax for now, will you do that for me?" It's a bit of an odd request, but you don't see any harm in it, leaning back against him a bit more, unable to suppress a grin. "What are you up to?" "You will see. For now, just breathe." It's not hard matching your breaths to his, slow and even. His shoulder is a surprisingly comfortable headrest too, and it doesn't take long to feel like you could almost drift off, right there in his arms. When he speaks again his voice is low, words dripping like honey, slow and sweet. "You enjoy my hands, do you not?" "Yeah, a lot." It's a bit of a silly question, and you can't help smiling. "You enjoy looking at them too, yes?" "Mm-hm."  "Would you look now?" With that, he brings one of his hands up in front of you. "You do not need to do anything, simply keep your eyes on my fingers for a while."

At first, he simply turns his hand over unhurriedly, back to palm and back again. You love how his hands look so delicate yet strong at the same time, and you want to keep watching, feeling too heavy and content to move. As he flexes his fingers gently a phrase springs to mind; piano fingers. You can't quite remember where you first heard it though, only that it must have been long ago. It's hard to think, to focus. Almost as if he heard what you were thinking, his fingers start moving slowly in front of your face, as if playing invisible keys. The movement is graceful, mesmerizing as his hand flits effortlessly across your field of vision, this way and that.

It's beautiful, and you don't want to look away. It reminds you of all the times he's touched you, always knowing precisely where and how. Your thighs squeeze together without you meaning to do it, seeking relief from the heat pooling at your core. He notices, of course, his breath soft against your cheek as he speaks. "You are enjoying this, good."

You love his voice, if you could eat it, you would. Did you say that out loud? Without taking your eyes off his fingers you can tell that he's smiling, hear it in his voice and it makes your chest swell with pride; you love making him smile. To make him happy. You feel so heavy though, like you might sink through the mattress if he wasn't holding you. It feels good though. Safe. The fluttering motion of his fingers is making your head swim. Turning you on. You squeeze your legs together again, wishing you could lie down with him, that he would touch you. "We can lie down, if you wish."

You don't remember asking, but he lowers you gently down next to him all the same, fingers still moving lazily in front of your face. Your eyelids feel heavy and you blink once, twice, everything moving at half speed. "You can close your eyes, if you need to." Maybe just for a minute. With your eyes closed, his voice wraps around you, sinking into your every pore. "Can you feel my touch? How well your breasts fill my hands, like they were made for me alone?"

 At first, you're not sure if you can feel him, but then there is the distinct feel of his hands cupping your breasts gently. "I can." The words feel slow, clumsy in your mouth. You bite your lip, enjoying the teasing but still wanting more.  "The tips of them are so sensitive for me, are they not?" He rubs his thumbs over your nipples until they're stiff, fanning the embers of your desire into a flame until you feel like you might combust. "Let me see you. Spread your legs for me."

You feel the bed shift as he moves in between your legs, gripping your thighs as he talks, forcing them wider, stroking ever closer to where you really need him. "You open your thighs so willingly for me, so obedient. Do you want me to touch you?"  "Yes, please." It's hard, talking. You don't remember it being this hard. "Feel how easily you part around my fingers," he murmurs, dragging his fingers between your folds. "So lovely, all but dripping already. And this little nub must be aching, for only the faintest touch," he rubs the pad of one finger across your clit, making your hips jerk,"to affect you like this."

He pauses for a few seconds, keeping his finger pressed to your clit but not moving, his voice filling your head like treacle, pushing every thought away. "You need to come, I think. Would you like that?" Your mind feels sluggish, his words landing like smooth pebbles in a bowl of jello. Coming sounds good though, you know that much, want to, badly. "Uh-huh."  "Tell me what you want." As he whispers it you can feel the words bouncing off of you like the lights of a sparkler, making your skin tingle. All you can think about is his mouth. It takes a while to get the words out though. "Give me your mouth?" It comes out sounding like a question, and you're not sure why. "Of course you can have my mouth, my love. Can you feel my tongue, lapping at you?"

And you realize that you can. The slide of his tongue against you is unmistakable, making you moan as it flicks over your clit. You can feel his breath against your ear though, and you're dimly aware that he's still talking, his voice flowing into you like waves. You don't know how he's doing it, but it doesn't seem important. Nothing matters except the way he's making you feel. "You always respond so beautifully to my touch." His voice is scrambling your thoughts, making it hard to do anything except listen, letting his words wash over you like a thick syrup until you can nearly taste them. "Particularly when I suck on that little nub, you love that, do you not?"

And he does just that, making your back arch of its own volition. You can't help grabbing at him then, the skin at the nape of his neck so soft under your hands, hair made to wind your fingers through. Perfect. Somebody is making noises and you think it might be you, but you're not sure of that either anymore. Everything feels so far away, everything except his mouth, his voice, his touch. "Are you going to come for me, my sweet?" His voice is so warm, so soft, enveloping you. "Y-yeah, 'm so close," the words come out stuttered and slurred, but you don't care, the pleasure short-circuiting your brain. "Go on then," he's smiling again, you can tell that much, "come."

And you do, fisting your hands in his hair to keep his mouth on you as your hips rock against him helplessly. The waves of pleasure are drowning you, making it hard to breathe, but you can hear yourself whimpering. Coming apart on his tongue feels like shattering, like being unmade and remade again. "Morpheus!" His name is ripped out of you, tumbling from your lips like a prayer. Maybe it is. As you come down from your high your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you feel like if you looked, you could see your ribs moving from the pounding of it, heart trying to break free. It's easier to think again though. To move. "Open your eyes, my love."

As you do, you realize that he's right next to you, inches away from even touching you, still perfectly composed. The look on his face might be the smuggest you've ever seen him, though. "If I had known that I could bring you to release with my voice alone, I would have done this a lot sooner." "Wha...no, that's not a thing." You blink, confused. "You seemed to enjoy it well enough."  "But you were touching me, I could feel you, feel your mouth..." "I was right here next to you the entire time," his voice is almost a purr, he's so obviously pleased with himself, "but I never touched you." You can't help being embarrassed, hiding your face behind your hands. "Oh my god, Dream, fuck." He chuckles then, gathering you against his chest again before pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Maybe later. For now, just rest." "You break my brain sometimes, you know that? Fuck, I love you."

⁂

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[interstellarsystem]

Waking Up After 10 Years of Dormancy – Identity, Grief, and Change

Long post ahead. This is a recount of my experiences as a headmate who was present in childhood, and then went dormant before waking up again in our 20s. There will be discussion of grief and dormancy in here, and mentions of abuse and headmate death without going into detail.

This is partially for the alterhumanovember / alterhuman writing challenge, and partially to get all of my thoughts out.

I’m Dain, a member of my system that all of the others never knew existed. I was here during childhood, though the exact year I came into existence is unknown, we think I became alive around 2008-2009. I lived alongside others sharing my body for years–maybe even up until 2014-2015. I fell into dormancy around then, and the current system had no idea I ever existed, as when I went to sleep, I took a lot of memories with me.

I don’t remember many of the others I shared time with, just that there was one we considered “the child”, what we would now call the original. I now know there was a switch between the original child and a new headmate, Archie, who isn’t the same person–but I’ll refer to them collectively as “the child” from now on, as my perspective was at the time. 

We–the others in the body–were there, living alongside the child, and I was protecting them along the way. I don’t remember fronting often, moreso… Silently observing, unable to move the body or communicate with them, but still there. Like a background process on a device. If emotions got high enough, I found myself in full control of the body, and I could get us out of whatever situation we had gotten ourselves into. Bullies at school, abusive figures in our lives be it parents or teachers, and other general stress–that was my battle to fight. I was the anger stored up behind the child’s fear, ready to lash out if needed.

As we got older, I started taking control less and less–not because we stopped needing me, but because the child had closed themselves off. They stopped allowing themselves to feel as deeply, and I was triggered into the front a lot less. Nowadays, I’d be aware it wasn’t a conscious choice, and was heavy dissociation, but back then I didn’t know. Some of the others–namely, the Pokemon I also shared the body with–had disappeared since our parents and friends were belittling us for still having “imaginary friends”. The child never spoke of me to anyone though, if they even knew I was there. So I think I only remained a little longer because of that. I’m not sure when I fell into dormancy, or if there was something that triggered it, or simply a gradual slip into sleep.

I woke up, though. At the end of last month, some others in our system had been looking at my source material. Deltora Quest, an anime based on an Australian authors novel–niche, mostly known to those who grew up in the time to watch it air on TV, or had ever picked up the books. We were looking at it again with our partner system, because we remembered it had been a huge special interest of ours as a kid, and had finally gotten around to watching more of it. Something about rekindling the interest woke me, and I was suddenly in the body again.

It, to me, was like I blinked. A foggy memory of being a child, still stressed about school, parents, and whatever else–and then a blink–and then, here. In a body I didn’t recognise, in a house I’d never been in, sharing control of the body with people I had never in my life met before. I still had all those memories of trauma, hurt and fear from before–and they all surfaced at the same time with me. I instantly panicked. After explaining where I was, Xeros, the person in cofront with me, told me that writing out everything coming into my brain could help us all organise and piece it together later. I did what it said, and wrote well over 2000 words before my thoughts slowed down a little bit–enough to actually focus. I called our partner system, calmed down after processing a bit more, and then got into bed to sleep off the residual panic.

It’s definitely taken a long while to come to terms with it. Effectively, I was in a coma for around 10 years, and the whole world moved on without me. I wasn’t in contact with any friends I remembered from before except one–who had changed a lot in the time that passed. I didn’t live where I remembered. Our siblings were so much older, as were our parents. We dropped out of school (though we’d be well past finished it by now). We got diagnosed with a whole bunch of things. We came out as transgender and are essentially completely socially transitioned and looking into HRT–even our parents know. And they know about our system too! Almost everything–if not absolutely everything–I knew before had changed in the blink of an eye. It absolutely shook me, to have my entire world uprooted and rearranged into something I couldn’t recognise as being something I have any part in. 

I felt an intrinsic heartache and felt full-blown grief over a life that, in my own experience, was “lost” through the irreparable change of time. There was no way of going back, no way of gaining back my lost years, and no way of bringing people I was close to back in contact with us or out of internal dormancy aside from sheer chance. We hadn’t died, but I had effectively died for years, and came back to a world that just… Kept moving. I mean, of course it would–the earth doesn’t stop for a single fragmented piece of trauma stored in the recesses of someone's mind. But coming back and not recognising anything or almost anyone around you… It was horrible. The sensation of loss was immense. I felt that I’d “failed” by going dormant, and learning that the child was no longer a part of the system. I felt that my entire purpose had fell through, and I was brought back for… No reason at all.

But… It’s not all bad. Far from it. The child may be gone, but our body isn’t. We’re not doomed to fail at life, as we thought back when I first existed. We’re volunteering and looking into getting an actual job, we have a stable group of friends, a loving partner system, and are on the road to moving out and getting some much needed time away from our home situation. Life isn’t horrible, and while it moved on without me, it moved in ways that were both bad and good. I don’t actually despise being here, even if I might have in the day or so after I woke up. The new group of people I share the body with is supportive, and I’ve already gotten closer to some of them. We’ve made real progress in the time I was gone, even if it all feels uncanny overall. I have a different mindset to what I had when I first woke up–I didn’t fail, I kept us going when we needed it back then. I didn’t give up, and there’s no way of telling where we’d be now if I never was there in the first place. Things are… good.

Though… I’ve got some confusing things within my own identity going on, since I woke up. Before, I was simply a fictive of Dain from Deltora Quest. Nothing much else to it, really. The child’s brain latched onto him as a strong character and implemented me into the system as a protective measure against outside forces. It all makes sense. But now? I feel like since I’ve been back, I’ve become a multifictive. Some part of me now is Tomura Shigaraki from My Hero Academia–something we’ve also been watching through, around the same time we got back into DQ.

It confuses me, in some ways. Makes sense in others. A lot of my mannerisms have changed to be slightly to-the-left of what I was before… Which does happen to lean me more toward acting like him. I questioned it without much deeper thought for a week or so, but found myself saying and doing more and more things that lined up with how he is. I suggested that I was a multifictive to our partner system, and on their second guess (and mind you, their first was a joke guess) of which character I could possibly be, they got it right. I acted enough like him to the point that others could see it, without even any hints. But it’s hard to tell where this came from.

See, I feel like if I wanted to, I could call myself a median subsystem. Others can tell which of my two fictive identities I’m leaning closer to at any given time–my voice, speech patterns and general attitude are instant giveaways. We don’t argue with each other, and the lines between Dain and Shigaraki–if there even are any–are so blurred they’re impossible to define. We can’t talk to each other, and we don’t feel a switch between us. But it’s so obvious that there’s two people, two whole identities, within what I call me. It’s incredibly confusing to think about the possible origin of how I came to be so… Fragmented within myself.

Am I the result of a new headmate that was forming (Shigaraki) getting stuck to whatever remained of the original Dain after he went dormant? Am I the original Dain with a new identity just sort of.. Added onto him? Am I two fully formed headmates put into one as a median entity for some reason? Does it even have a proper explanation that I could come to a concrete conclusion on? Well, no. Like most things that operate within systems, concrete explanations are hard to come by. My origin of why I am who I am now doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of things, but I still feel the drive to know why I was changed by the time I woke up.

Overall? Life is confusing. Waking up has been a shock, but honestly, I’m glad I did. I’m glad I get to have a second run in this body, with new and kinder people than before to support each other. I’m still working a lot of stuff out, and I’m sure I will be for a long while after this. But… I’m here again, and it’s been a pleasure becoming a part of our new life.

[madrain230]

THE SACRIFICE: Children of the Moon | JJK (2)

Pairing: Jungkook x f. OC

Genre: Dark Romance

Rating: 18+ (nsfw)

Summary: In the Kingdom of Oltira, a special ritual takes place once a year at the beginning of autumn. Mothers are living in fear for the fate of their offspring. Each day and night, each woman prays for the birth of a male child-a son-because once her vulnerable unborn arrives its existence to the world and is a female-a daughter-not even the most heartfelt pleading can save the unfortunate fate that may be death of her dear child.

Warnings: strong bloody violence, explicit language, disturbing behavior, sensitivity, death, animalistic tendency, triggering topics, mature situations-themes, etc. It may also touch some sensitive subjects.

note: I don't own any of the images. please note that all images and copyrights belong to their original owners. no copyright infringement intended.

- CHAPTER 2 -

A sparrow's song's melodic echo began to appear repeatedly in the silent atmosphere. After hearing the tune of bliss, several other animals joined the harmony and allowed a metaphorical entrance into the glory of the sunrise.

There were different colors of red and pink occurring in the sky, which made it a beautiful and relaxing scenery for multiple eyes to watch.

Although the captivating shadow of sunrise over the summit of the forest ceased its soothing colors, minutes later, daylight soon arrived at each perimeter of Oltira's domain.

Another day began once again.

In each household, most children opened their eyes with a motivation, which was to join the cheerful giggles of their friends. Every mother felt a smile on her face when she opened the door, and her impatient children rushed out of the house in delightful laughter.

Along with their owners, steeds, and mules began to appear in the streets with necessary objects—mostly fabrics and edible sustenance—upon their muscular bodies. Men and women began to voice their determination, their audible sentences constantly repeating a specific worth of their object for sale.

It was, thankfully, an active day for the people that were living in such an area.

Nevertheless, it was a wonder for many if the day was going to fade away with happy beliefs.

It was, however, as if nature itself were responding when an enraged rumble echoed its appearance from far away.

Some people immediately looked at the sky with thought, others looked at it with worry, and most decided not to allow their brains to be disturbed by such a simple matter.

Suddenly, in fast and fierce motions, a man with youthful facial characteristics appeared in the surroundings.

Such an appearance became the main focus of attention for the various stares that were present in the location.

When the man nearly fell upon and came face-to-face with a moving horse, everyone became frightened with fear. Naturally, the animal behaved with its instincts, which was to be expected.

It all happened in the blink of an eye as the startled animal forced its massive weight to stand and raise in the air its two front hoofs, its height becoming twice in size while its animalistic sound echoed in panic.

Then, dread reached everyone's gut when the young man fell on his backside in front of the shire horse, which weighed 2000 pounds (907.18 kg) in muscle capacity.

The owner of the steed immediately acted on time and quickly pulled the double reins with effective strength, forcing the animal's head to shift and successfully land its raised hooves away from the man.

“Hoy! Easy!”, the owner spoke out in a hushing tone to his spooked friend while caressing the gray fur.

Then his eyes hardened and narrowed into slits as his attention shifted to the young fellow.

“You almost crashed to death, son! This route is full of people! You shouldn't be running like that!”, The man almost shouted, revealing his anger through words, but all was finished off in vain when a rumble appeared from the atmosphere.

The young man immediately turned his attention to the sky, and his eyes widened in realization as dread pierced through his heart.

With astonished eyes, the spectators could only watch as the man whose body was on the ground stood up and began to run.

Within seconds, the young man's shadow disappeared into the crowd.

“Isn't he Smith's son? Something must have happened for him to behave in that manner ... ”, a man decided to utter deep in thought while approaching the owner and his horse. However, all he gained was silence from the man beside him, and the only sound that was able to prevail in the atmosphere was the sound of an enraged sky.

In a calm yet determined tone, a voice belonging to a man suddenly echoed its existence.

“Wait, let me help you. That seems to be very heavy!”

Upon hearing the words disappear, a surprised gasp appeared in their absence.

Annora's whole attention veered toward the man whose body stood beside her own. As soon as her eyes fell on his face, a beautiful smile greeted her. Instantly recognizing the familiar face, a warmth captured her heart, and before she could open her mouth to talk, after also offering a small smile, astonishment was soon visible in her facial characteristics.

Annora's unspoken words became a long-lost memory when the heavyweight she was holding up was stolen by the arms of the man beside her.

“Arnold! No, you don't have to help me carry this; I can manage.”

“Where to? Eric?”

Arnold didn't look behind him when he asked the question. Annora's eyebrows furrowed a little, clearly somehow annoyed by being interrupted, but then loosened up when a brief chuckle echoed.

Then a statement with the meaning of irony was spoken.

“Walk, Arnold. As if you haven't figured it out already.”

Arnold didn't have to veer around to look at the person who spoke. Immediately recognizing the man's voice, he repositioned the heavy sack on his right shoulder with a gesture, and then his upper lip curled up in a quick appearance.

When the conversation between the two men concluded in a state of silence, Annora was unable to maintain her curiosity and subsequently glanced at one of the men.

As expected, Annora's sight caught a pair of eyes that looked at her with a meaningful gaze that she deeply understood.

She halted all the movements of her body.

The breath she took was an indication to the man behind her that she wanted to discuss it. However, Annora was unable to express her feelings because her presence was ignored.

The sight of her brother ignoring her while walking past her provoked an almost annoyed feeling to come to the surface of her heart. Although it vanished within a few seconds as Eric spun and closed a green eye in her direction, the smirk on his face resembled that of a child's playful disposition.

Annora's eyes lit up, and she cracked a little smile as she accelerated her pace to reach the two tall figures.

It is encouraging to see that he still has that childish behavior.

-

-

-

“Are you planning to stay for dinner? There is enough food on the table to feed one more person.”

Eric looked at Arnold and waited for him to answer. His shoulders were still firmly anchored to the heavyweight of two sacks.

“No, thank you.” Arnold's eyes appeared for a second with a spark of regret. Nonetheless, he swiftly attempted to conceal his emotions by transferring the substantial sack containing potatoes onto another. After thoroughly rubbing both of his hands to remove the dust and dirt, he redirected his attention towards speaking. “I express my gratitude for the invitation, but I must go home.”

Eric nodded and Arnold offered a modest smile as his gaze remained fixed on Annora for a brief period of duration.

“See you around, Annora.”

“I have concerns about it, but even a dumb person can understand the importance of the stares he gives you.”

As he concluded his previous statement, Eric looked at Arnold's faraway figure.

“That man cares for you, Annora.”

A silence surrounded the siblings.

Annora's bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and the beating of her heart became trapped in emotions of distress. Despite the realization that her brother was aware of the emotional circumstances between her and Arnold, she had not anticipated that Eric would be capable of expressing them in such a manner.

Eric was seeking an explanation, but Annora was unwilling to speak at that moment. The reality of her brother's words terrified her and hoped to escape from it.

It is, however, impossible to escape reality...

Annora took a deep breath but was unable to articulate her thoughts when, with a sudden force, the door of the house in her view suddenly swung open.

“Why are you sitting outside the door? Come in quickly, both of you! You will get sick in this kind of weather.”

Upon the sudden appearance of their mother, both son and daughter remained silent for a brief period, but swiftly proceeded towards the open wooden door.

It was evident that their conversation was in a pause.

However, Annora was cognizant of her brother's implied gaze upon her and was aware that she would have to respond to his questions someday in the future.

-

-

-

Upon Annora's entrance through the wooden entrance, the initial odor that struck her was the familiar aroma of freshly picked tomatoes.

She turned her head to the left and immediately observed the ceramic cooking pot, which was suspended above the smoky flames of a small fire.

“What are we having for dinner—Oh! Tomato soup?”

Eric's entire demeanor exuded curiosity when he approached the flames and gazed upon the flaming pot.

“It smells delicious! My dear mother, you know how to capture a man's heart!”

Eric's cheerful voice resembled his facial expression as he gazed upon his mother, whose expression did not convey any indication of her emotions from his words. She merely approached him, holding a total of four wooden bowls in her hands.

“You should wash your hands from the dirt they have and sit down at the dinner table—”

“Yeah, yeah … Understood. Only compliments from your husband are accepted!” Despite his mother's scandalous expression, Eric continued his dramatic talking. “However, I believe you can accept this simple flower from this poor man. If you don't, his poor heart will hurt!”

Annora watched the interaction between her brother and mother with amusement.

She observed as Marianne, her mother, attempted to contain her smile as she accepted the flower from her son, who was kneeling. However, she was unsuccessful in her efforts when Eric stood up and uttered a loud shout of “Yes!” while he kissed her cheek.

Her mother shook her head at her son's childish behavior but the smile never left her face as she turned to her task of serving the dinner once again.

“Are you troubling your mother again?”

Immediately, the attention shifted towards the tall man who entered through the door, as his imposing voice pierced the silence that had prevailed after the amusing conversation between mother and son.

“You know I could never, father.”

Eric responded as he left his mother's side and approached his sister at the table. “Okay, just a bit…”, he whispered as he sat in a chair, causing laughter throughout the house.

“Your son is giving me flowers these days,” Marianne spoke, though she paused and turned to point a knowing glance at the man towards the door. “I am just curious as to who's been teaching him this advice of sweet-talking and flowers.”

The man, named Andrew, declared himself guilty and chuckled as he kissed his wife on the cheek and then sat on the opposite side of his son at the table.

Andrew exhaled, and looked towards Annora, revealing a smile brimming with warmth.

“How are you doing today, Sweetheart?”

Annora's broad smile was enough for her father to comprehend the answer for her well-being.

When dinner was served, a calm atmosphere prevailed among the family, while minor conversations began to occur.

“I suppose you were in the barn when we arrived?”

Before answering Eric, Andrew swallowed a big spoonful of tomato soup from his bowl. “Yes, I needed to check on the animals. They were acting restless this morning after the thunders.”

“It seems that they consistently exhibit unnatural behavior during this particular time of the year, do they?” 

Even though it was a question, Eric's words were better called a statement, for everyone at the table knew that such thoughts would conclude in a conversation with an only end.

“It's like they understand that—”

“Enough!”

“…”

Marianne's voice enveloped the entire household in a chilling silence.

Annora observed her mother with concern.

Her mother's amber eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration, lips drawn in tightly. The appearance of such rigor was a persona that she did not embrace unless it was necessary.

“Marianne—”

“I know, Andrew. I know…”

Marianne took a deep breath and turned her gaze away from Eric. “I'm… I'll be back in a minute. You all keep eating.”

Annora could only watch with deep sorrow as her mother rose from her seat, concealing half of her expression with a hand, and hurriedly fled into the narrow corridor leading to the bedrooms. Once again, silence prevailed within the walls, however, it was swiftly dissipated when a fist was firmly pressed against the table. 

Both the brother and sister looked at their father.

“Why did you feel the need to speak about this matter, son? You know how sensitive your mother is about—”

“But I'm not? You are badly mistaken, father. Do you think I am enjoying discussing this? Of course not! But we cannot pretend every single time that it's not—”

“I know that, Eric! But we have to—Do it for your sister!”

The shouting abruptly stopped and Annora felt sorrow grip her heart. She did not need to glance up to observe that both men individuals, namely her brother and father, were now focusing on her. 

Despite the overwhelming pressure of their stares, Annora stared intently at the nearly empty bowl of her meal. She was aware that if she were to glance at them at least once, the initial reaction she might likely face would be a mixture of feelings of sympathy and sorrow.

Annora closed her eyes for a moment and then, with a clenched jaw, stood up from her chair and approached the one window near the door.

The ominous gray hue of the clouds was almost impossible to ignore when she looked outside.

Annora wanted to laugh.

She wanted to laugh because her family, as well as many others, wanted to forget that once a year, another tragedy was just waiting to unfold.

But how can someone forget something that seems impossible? Especially when nature itself is presenting reality with its presence.

Another rumbling echoed its existence from the sky, and Annora exhaled deeply.

For every thunder, she was able to see, Annora's thoughts kept repeating the names.

Names from so many tragedies that even the older generations could remember.

One of the tragedies was called Charlotte, a woman in her thirties.

Another was called Amelia, a young child.

An old one was called Isabel, an infant … 

Lucia, Adelina, Aria, Clare, Olivia, Sarah, and many others—Dead … A sacrifice.

Annora looked beside her and found her older brother staring at her with concern.

“I'm alright, Eric.”, she blurted, and her brother took a deep breath before answering.

“I know … It's just—”

A faint cry from a church bell echoed for a single time in the distance.

Annora looked outside the window with startled eyes.

Life became a blur of uncertainty.

The creaking of a chair being pushed resonated against the concrete ground, and soon enough, Annora felt a large hand firmly touching her shoulder.

The second chime of a church bell signaled once again its existence.

Gloomy darkness devoured Annora's sanity, and her pulsating heart which was bursting with peace crumbled to a rhythm by chains of fear.

She was unable to speak … It was as if she had a knot in her throat …

Within her, the only words of a voice became endless prayer and pleading.

A deadly third clang chimed from the church's bell.

Annora's eyes were glimmering with fear when she looked at her brother, who was still standing beside her with one of his hands firmly resting on her shoulder.

His green eyes collided with her own, and then … Chaos.

[mingiatz]

Summary: Jiwon, a reserved biotechnology student, never expected her quiet late-night study sessions to include Kang Yeosang—an idol hiding from the world. What starts as an unlikely friendship slowly turns into something deeper. But with secrets, insecurities, and the pressures of fame between them, can they truly belong in each other’s worlds?

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x OC (Jiwon)

Trope: Idol x Fan

Genre: Romance, Slice of Life,  Angst, Software & Awkward First Love, Fluff

Featuring: Ateez, OCs, late night walks, Lots of Fluff and Awkwardness

This Series will have multiple Chapters with around 2000 words. I hope you like it. Please be kind this is my first Fanfiction and English is not my first language. (I am open for constructive criticism). I will try to upload a chapter everyday.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Epilogue

Yeosang’s POV

Yeosang never thought he’d be here.

Sitting next to Jiwon, hand in hand, after meeting each other’s parents.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would be in a relationship—a real one, with someone who made him feel like this—he wouldn’t have believed them.

But now?

Now, he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

Jiwon, laughing softly beside him, the way she always did when she was at peace.

Jiwon, pushing up her glasses, still a little shy even though they’d been together for months.

Jiwon, who had met his parents and somehow charmed them within minutes.

Jiwon, who let him meet her parents, even though she had been nervous the entire time.

And now?

Now, it was just them.

Sitting on a park bench, the quiet hum of the city around them, after another whirlwind week of schedules and private moments.

Yeosang turned slightly, watching her.

She was completely at ease, watching the night sky, lost in thought.

 She’s beautiful.

He thought it so often now, without hesitation.

And maybe that was why—tonight felt like the right moment.

Yeosang took a slow breath, squeezing her hand gently.

Jiwon looked over, curious. “What is it?”

Yeosang hesitated.

Then, softly, he asked,

“…Would you want to make it official?”

Jiwon blinked. “Huh?”

Yeosang gave her a small, almost nervous smile. “To ATINY.”

Jiwon’s eyes widened.

She pulled back slightly, staring at him in surprise.

“You mean—”

Yeosang nodded. “Tell them.”

Jiwon swallowed. “Yeosang, are you sure?”

Yeosang exhaled softly. “I don’t want to hide you.”

Jiwon’s lips parted slightly.

Yeosang held her gaze, completely serious.

“I know it won’t be easy,” he admitted. “There will be opinions. There will be noise. But… I don’t care.”

Jiwon swallowed hard.

Yeosang squeezed her hand again.

“I want them to know,” he murmured. “That I love you.”

Jiwon froze.

Yeosang smiled softly.

“I love you,” he repeated.

Jiwon covered her face with her free hand. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere.”

Yeosang chuckled. “Why not?”

“Because,” she mumbled. “You’ll make me cry.”

Yeosang gently pulled her hand away, tilting her chin up so she’d look at him.

“I mean it,” he said.

Jiwon bit her lip, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

Then—slowly, softly—she smiled.

“…Then let’s tell them.”

Yeosang’s heart swelled.

And when he leaned down to kiss her—he knew.

This was it.

She was it.

And the whole world was about to know.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Three Months Later

If Yeosang thought his life would change a little after announcing his relationship—

He was wrong.

Because everything changed.

And yet, somehow—nothing really did.

ATINY had exploded.

Some fans were shocked. Some were supportive. Some were heartbroken.

And, of course, some were detectives, trying to figure out how long it had been going on.

The theories, the timelines, the edits—it was insane.

But the best part?

 Jiwon handled it better than him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jiwon asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yeosang, sprawled across the couch, sighed dramatically. “How are you so calm about all of this?”

Jiwon shrugged. “They were gonna find out eventually.”

Yeosang stared. “They made a 20-minute analysis video about our body language in the last V-Live.”

Jiwon laughed. “That was a good one, though.”

Yeosang groaned. “You’re not supposed to enjoy this.”

Jiwon grinned, nudging him playfully. “Relax. Your fans love you.”

Yeosang exhaled.

She was right.

Despite the chaos, ATINY had accepted it.

Some were still adjusting.

But most were supportive, saying things like:

„As long as Yeosang is happy, I’m happy.“

„She seems really sweet!“

„Not me realizing she was the ATEEZ blog writer all along???“

Yeosang smirked at the last one.

“I still can’t believe they figured that out,” he muttered.

Jiwon rolled her eyes. “They were bound to. ATINY is scary.”

Yeosang grinned. “You still love them, though.”

Jiwon hummed, leaning against his shoulder. “Yeah. I do.”

Yeosang wrapped an arm around her.

His world had changed completely.

But sitting here, with Jiwon beside him—he wouldn’t change a thing.

Yunho’s POV

Yunho sat on the balcony, watching the group laughing and teasing inside the dorm.

Couples everywhere.

Yeosang and Jiwon.

Seonghwa and Harin.

Mingi and Emilia.

Wooyoung and Sophie.

Jongho and Hana.

All of them… happy.

Beside him, San stretched with a sigh. “This is kind of disgusting.”

Hongjoong chuckled. “You say that, but you wouldn’t mind being one of them.”

San snorted. “Sure, if I could find someone who could handle me.”

Yunho huffed out a laugh. “That’s the problem, huh?”

San just grinned.

But Yunho?

He wasn’t really in the moment.

Because his mind was elsewhere.

Back to a time before all of this.

Back to a girl who had once sat beside him, laughing at his stupid jokes.

A girl who had once held his hand under the table when no one was looking.

A girl he had thought… would stay.

Yunho exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

San noticed. “You good?”

Yunho forced a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “About?”

Yunho didn’t answer.

Instead, he took another sip of his drink, watching the couples inside.

And for the first time in a while, he wondered—

Would he ever get that again?

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Disclaimer:This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and scenarios in this story are entirely fictional and not intended to reflect the real lives of the members of Ateez or any other individuals. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

[asexual-spongebob]

HAI EVERYONE!!! Here’s a drawin a made of bill, dib and neb (snarl beast.) in my aliens exist au! :D

And here’s the new aliens exist chapter!! :3 this one was fun 2 write! :D

Fic link + fic Tags are below!

Aliens Exist (12273 words) by Kittysboba Chapters: 6/30 Fandom: Invader Zim Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim), Dib & Keef (Invader Zim), Dib & Gaz (Invader Zim), Dib & Bill (Invader Zim) Characters: Dib (Invader Zim), Zim (Invader Zim), Keef (Invader Zim), Gaz (Invader Zim), Tak (Invader Zim), Other(s), Other Character Tags to Be Added, Bill (Invader Zim), Snarl Beast (Invader Zim) Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, basically if I had written the show, Dystopian society, Alien Culture, Child Soldiers, Irken Empire (Invader Zim), Irkens Act Like Cats (Invader Zim), Irkens are Terrible (Invader Zim), Zim is Defective (Invader Zim), Song: Aliens Exist (Blink-182), Canon-Typical Ableism, Bisexuality, Queer Themes, Queer Youth, references to alt culture, 2000s, Basically. A bit more technology advanced tho, ZADE, ZaDr, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Dib Has Issues (Invader Zim), Gaz Being Gaz (Invader Zim), Oblivious Professor Membrane, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Frenemies Dib & Zim (Invader Zim), (later on), artwork, Digital Art, Implied Almighty Tallest Red/Almighty Tallest Purple, Past Professor Membrane/Bill, I promise that will make more sense as tge fic goes on, Trans Dib (Invader Zim), Trans Gaz (Invader Zim) Summary:

Zim, a 11 year old Irken is sent to conquer mysterious planet “Urth” as a “top secret” mission by his Almighty Tallests, Red and Purple. He believes that this is a top secret mission, but that is further than the truth.

He meets a “Urthinoid” boy his age, Dibert “Dib” Membrane. A weird and kind of unhinged boy with a not-so-good reputation. His only friend is this other boy named Keef Cooksey, another social reject, who have an unlikely friendship despite their differing personalities.

Dib has a mean younger sister, Gazlene “Gaz” Membrane, who couldn’t care less about Zim.

Zim and Dib quickly become sworn enemies, but, will this be the case for the rest of their lives? Or will this be subject to change?

••• Basically if I had written IZ. Featuring my own headcanons, interpretations, and ships. :)

I’ll try my best to update this as much as I can lmao.